Dark Heart Silhouette
by Elle Blessingway
Summary: In a world where Voldemort won, Draco is one of the Dark Lord's favored. The love of two women will drive him to question who he is and what he has become, but it is betrayal that will set in motion the beginning of the end. Draco/Ginny, Draco/Astoria.
1. Prologue

**Title:** Dark Heart Silhouette (1/12)  
**Author:** Elle, aka **elle_blessing**  
**Characters:** Draco/Ginny, Draco/Astoria  
**Rating:** R  
**Word Count:** ~28,000  
**Summary:** In a world where Voldemort won the Second War, Draco finds himself in the fortuitous position of being one of the Dark Lord's favored. The love of two women will drive him to question who he is and what he has become, but it is betrayal that set in motion the beginning of the end.  
**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter is JKR's sandbox, not mine.  
**Author's Notes:** This was written for the 2010 round of **dracobigbang** at LiveJournal. I have taken the liberty of making Daphne and Astoria cousins instead of sisters, and Michael Corner is Astoria's half-brother through marriage. Also, endless thanks go to **fiery_flamingo**, **amazonmink**, **goddessvicky** & **mugglechump** for helping me beta this story to make it fit for public consumption.

.

.

**Prologue**

**.**

The Dark Mark was a rancid green stain in the night sky and Ginny knew she should be afraid, but it was anger that sluiced through her veins. "Mum, _let me go_," she growled.

"You weren't supposed to come, Ginny. It's not safe." Molly's voice was firm as always, but her brown eyes were worried as she, too, watched the battle from the cover of the forest.

"There's _nowhere else_ that I should-" Whatever she was going to say was lost to time as her breathe caught, muscles already tensing to _go_. "No. _Nonononono_."

Molly wrapped her arms around Ginny, tears blurring her vision as she watched Harry go down, watched her youngest son fall moments later at his side. It wasn't the way of things. Parents weren't supposed to watch their children die. "No dear," she said, choked. "It's too late."

"It's _not_," Ginny cried, though she sagged against Molly's arms around her. "It's not. We can still do something, we can still save someone. We have to do _something_, Mama. Fred and Ron and …" A sob escaped her, tears blurring her vision and the image of the dark haired boy she loved lying motionless on the ground next to her brother.

"Come now," Molly managed to say though her throat was tight with grief as she pulled Ginny away. "_Come._"

oOo

The curse had been meant for Rosier. Draco watched in rising horror, almost in slow motion, as the green killing light ricocheted off the deflection ward toward a mane of shining blond.

Her body dropped like there were no bones to hold her up.  
It was painless. Draco knew his mother hadn't suffered, but as he skidded to her side and crouched down, the only thing that made any sense was the dark tide rising within him. Narcissa's eyes were sightless, the light of the curses flying all around them mirrored in staring blankness.

Something inside of him snapped, broke, and that black rage filled him was a balm to the doubt, the pain, the failure that had plagued him and his family, the disgrace. Teeth bared, Draco's knuckles were white with the grip he had on his wand as he began to rise. Before fully standing, he had felled two.

There was nothing after that but the blackness, the red overlaying his vision, the pain threatening to sunder him, and death. A life for a life. Twenty lives. He would destroy them _all_.

oOo

There was nothing to see out her window but darkness. All the same, Astoria was curled on the bench, staring into the night. Every muscle wanted movement and everything in her wanted to _do_ something.

There was nothing to do but wait, however, nothing to do but wait and see if she would ever again lay eyes on her brother – alive.

"Foolishness, Michael," she hissed to the empty room. "Dumbledore's Army was _foolishness._." Her breath caught on the last and Astoria frowned, refused to let herself cry.

"You know there was nothing else I could do, Rors," came a soft voice. Michael shut the door silently behind him.

A cry slipped her as she scrambled off the bench and stumbled across the room towards him. "You're hurt," she said at his wince when he caught her. She glared up at him through her tears.

A tired laugh escaped him and he hugged her tighter still before setting her away from him, and it was only then that Astoria noticed the pack he had slung over one shoulder. "Where are you going? What happened? Mother and Father haven't returned from the Ministry yet …"

It was then Michael's lips thinned and weariness seemed to make his shoulders curve ever so slightly. "I have to go, Rors. It's over, and they'll be looking for me, for all of us that survived. You'll be safe though. Greengrass is a name that will keep you safe."

With a rising horror, Astoria realized that it was over. _Truly_ over – or only just begun. "I'm coming with you," she said, moving away to grab her wand, to find a bag.

Michael grabbed her wrist, pulled her back. His eyes were haunted, and even through the dirt and soot banking his features, Astoria could see the fear in him at such a thing. "No. You're staying here. Don't leave this place. Mother and Father did not choose as I did and you are here, blameless. You'll be safe."

He gathered her into his arms then, the embrace crushing, and his voice was nothing more than an urgent whisper. "As long as you're here, you'll be safe. _I love you_."

Michael pressed a kiss to her hair, released her and was gone through the door before Astoria could do anything. She ran after him, but when she burst into the hall, he was nowhere to be seen. "Michael!"

She ran down the corridor, skidded down to the manor's entryway, but he was gone. "Michael! _Don't leave me_," she said to the empty atrium, her cry echoing.

oOo

"Come, young Malfoy."

If there was anything left in him, Draco might have been frightened. He _should_ have been frightened. The only thing he felt, however, was hollow. Empty. His mother was gone and the blood of those he'd slain to avenge her still coated his hands, was spattered on his face.

"My lord?" His voice sounded dull and lifeless, even to himself.

"You have made the name Malfoy great this night. In my name, our enemies fell to your feet."

Mercury eyes truly focused then. Part of Draco - the wild, untamed Black in him - wanted to rail that it had all been for his mother, for his family, that no _half-breed_ would ever command such loyalty. The tiny part his father's lineage claimed of him, however, stayed his tongue. It was not wise to voice dissension on the eve of a new regime.

"Come here. Stand beside your aunt."

And Draco did. He stood at the Dark Lord's right hand and barely stayed the impulse to fell one more. It was a pity Lord Voldemort was impossible to slay.

oOo

"Mum. Come back to me," she whispered, not for the first or last time. Ginny swallowed and pressed her cheek to the hand she held. Molly's skin was soft, but her fingers were limp in Ginny's grasp. "I need you. You're all I have left." Her voice broke. "They're all gone. It's just you and me now."

Ginny's gaze traveled hungrily over her mother's too-still features. "Wake up. _Please_."

There was no reply. There was only the drip of the potions, the soft 'tap tap' of the nurse's shoes down the hall as she made her rounds in the long-term care unit.

Anger welled in Ginny and she closed her eyes to guard against the tears threatening and she pressed her forehead to her mother's hand. "You'll wake up someday, Mummy, and when you do, it'll be different here. I promise."

She raised her head then, whiskey gaze finding the window. There were no stars in the sky this night, no moon. It was as if even nature itself bowed to the reign of darkness upon them.

"_I promise_," she whispered fiercely, gaze darting to her mother's serene face. "I'll make it right. I'll kill him myself."

The 'tap tap' was closer now and Ginny's head whipped around.

When the nurse stepped through the door, a tiny frown knit her brow. "Well, that wasn't nice, now was it, Molly," she chattered pleasantly as she moved through the room. "Someone left your window open."

oOo

"It was good of you to take tea with me, cousin," Daphne said cooly. The words were polite, but Astoria was not fooled; there was no love lost between them, nor had the friction between their fathers ever helped matters.

"It was good of you to invite me," Astoria said demurely though her dark eyes betrayed the spark of heated dislike and burned even brighter when Daphne noticed. The older girl seemed to take pleasure in this and and her lips curled ever so slightly into a smirk. "I should wonder though, cousin mine, what the occasion is?"

"You wound me," Daphne said, the smirk tinting her eyes now. "You truly think I need occasion to desire your company?"

"Do forgive me," Astoria demurred before she took a delicate sip of the steaming tea in hand. Her mind buzzed with what her cousin might be up to, however. She had heard her Papa and Mother speak in hushed tones of her uncle Devon and Daphne and how they entertained those of Voldemort's regime at the Greengrass estate. Her cousin had _never_ desired the pleasure of her company which only meant she was up to something.

A purposeful step and the hush of people about them at the _Blue Owl_ drew her attention, however, and Astoria turned in her seat to see Daphne's father striding towards them. "Uncle?"

"Astoria, Daphne, come with me." His tone brooked no argument, but Astoria wouldn't have posed one. Something was wrong and if her loathsome uncle was the one to deliver the news, then so be it. She followed him out of the dining hall, Daphne behind her, until they were in the quiet of the atrium.

It was then Devon turned. A muscle in his jaw tensed and his eyes went to Daphne's. Astoria turned between the two and their shared glance only served to make the alarm in her ring all the louder. "Uncle? What is it? What is wrong?"

"Astoria, I'm sorry." He took her hand and she had to fight not to snatch it back. "I'm sorry, but your parents are dead. My brother - he is gone."

"What? What… they were at the manor …" She pulled her hand back as shock sluiced through her. "… Nothing can get into the manor. The wards …?"

"They were infiltrated somehow. They were slain, presumably by the rogues still hunted."

"What! No, no that's not possible," she said, dark eyes darting between Daphne and Devon. She felt weightless. She should feel pain, sadness, but the shock of the news padded her just this moment. "It's _not possible_," she insisted.

"No?" Devon countered, eyes sharp on her. "Why is that, niece?"

She couldn't say that it was because Michael - _their son_ - was one of the so-called rogues. To share what she knew to be true, however, was to put both herself and her brother upon the pyre.

It was then the gravity of the situation hit her, that _her parents were gone_, and tears blurred her vision. "It's just… the wards… they can't be penetrated," she said, voice breaking.

Astoria felt the energy of the room shift and turned to see one of the noblewomen pass by towards the lady's lounge. It was then she felt a firm hand on her arm and moments later she was enveloped. "There, there," Devon said. "We'll find who did it. Don't worry, niece. I shall watch over you."

She struggled not to recoil from his touch and as his words washed over her, it was then Astoria truly cried.

oOo

The wind whipped at her hair, across her face, but Hermione paid it no mind. Her gaze was fixed on the shore, the lights looking like stars themselves as the ship moved further away from the country of her birth.

They hadn't wanted her to go. In truth, Hermione hadn't wanted to leave them either. There were so few of the Order and Dumbledore's Army left, and they had to stay together. It was truly their only chance for survival.

But that's all it was. Survival. They weren't winning. It was only a matter of time until they were all found and killed, and Hermione was tired of watching her friends die.

This far-fetched hunt for a myth was their only hope. They said it was only a legend, but Dumbledore wouldn't have entrusted her with the book of so-called fables if the answer, their last resort, was not somewhere within it's pages.

It might be a hunt for fool's gold, but she _had_ to try. It's what Harry would have done.

Jaw clenching as she fought off the tears threatening, Hermione turned her back on England, hitched her bag on her shoulder and secured Harry's cloak about her.

oOo

Astoria's heels clipped against the marble floors of the Greengrass estate, anger evident in every quick step. Another echoed behind her, but Astoria paid Daphne no mind as she bee-lined for her uncle's den.

Manners were ignored as she pushed through the heavy door without knocking. "You must change their epitaph."

Devon turned slowly from his perusal of the grounds through the arched window. Anger burned in his gaze and the hard set of his mouth. "I will do no such thing, nor will I accept such insolence from you, niece."

"You _have to change it_," Astoria said, voice low and serious. She knew challenging her uncle was anything but wise, but she had to say something. What he had done to her parent's graves was inconceivable. "They were the proud and loving parents to a daughter _and a son_."

If Devon's features could harden any further, they did in that moment. "You will apologize now for your lack of decorum as a true lady of this household immediately, or I shall be forced to discipline you."

Astoria clipped further into the room, walked all the way up to him and tipped her head back to glare at the hateful man who she called family. "It must be changed. Michael must be added. I demand a forward of my inheritance. I will make the changes myself."

Devon's anger was expected, but the blow that had her grasping for a hold at the edge of his desk was a surprise. She would have spat on his shoes if not for the black spots swimming in her vision and the effort it was taking to stay conscious.

"You will change nothing. Everything is as it should be, and you, niece, will learn the manners my brother apparently neglected to teach you."

Astoria lifted her gaze as he moved by. Her knuckles turned white as her grip tightened when she saw Daphne's lips curl into a smirk before she, too, disappeared from the doorway after her father.

oOo

"Bellatrix tells me you finished off the last of the traitors in the dudgeons, young Malfoy," Voldemort said as he paced about fair man at the center of the hooded gathering.

Draco could feel the weight of all their eyes on him, weighing, but it was only the Dark Lord's that mattered. "Yes, my lord."

"She tells me you have been merciless in your dispense of the Killing Curse."

Only because such was a mercy after what they suffered at the hands of his aunt and those of her ilk. What he said was, "Yes, my lord."

"Very good, young Malfoy," Voldemort all but purred. "I had my doubts when you failed to rid us of Dumbledore. You have come into your strength and your resolve, have you not?"

He had no idea. Draco resolved to live, however that could be managed in this new world. "It is as you say."

A please smile curled his serpentine lips. "You may kneel."

Draco did and wondered at himself - kneeling before a half-breed. The only thing that kept him moving forward was that his mother would have wanted him to keep going. Not like this though. Never like this.

"My will is yours," Voldemort intoned, wand passing from one shoulder to the other, binding.

"Your will be done, my lord," Draco said in return. Such a display before all the Death Eaters was an honor and yet the words were vile and bitter tasting as they passed across his lips, coated his tongue.

What were a few bitter words in exchange for life? For survival, for prominence in this new order? Narcissa would have looked on him in disapproval and Draco bowed his head further. "Your will be done," he repeated, jaw clenching.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

.**  
**

Her skin was already cooling, the fine sheen of sweat disappearing as long seconds turned into several minutes, turned into the sound of her even breathing. She always fell asleep first and for some odd reason, that pleased Draco; perhaps because she trusted him enough to close her eyes.

Ginny Weasley didn't have any reason to trust him with the repose of her sleep. Then again, she didn't have any reason to do the other things she did with him, either. Why she let him into her bed, into her body until they both shuddered with something akin to what Draco imagined heaven might be like, he didn't know. She didn't like him and never had. Ginny had made sure he knew the depths of her dislike the night she had first hexed him with the Bat Bogey when they were still in school – when life had been much simpler for all that a war was brewing.

He wasn't entirely sure how they had fallen into the same bed. If anything, she had more reason to hate him than ever; her family was gone, and though he had not been personally responsible, she had every reason to lump him in with those who had put her relatives into the ground. In her position, he'd have had no mercy or forgiveness.

Perhaps she did hate him, but calling his given name in pleasure as she shuddered beneath him said differently. Still, Draco was too suspicious by half to truly believe the lovely ginger woman who spent her time dancing at _Nightshade_ felt anything for him. It didn't stop that damnable part of him that had once had hope from wishing that wasn't the case.

If he didn't know himself better, he would say he was already half in love with her, but the cynical part of him said it was only an illusion – just what he imagined love felt like; he thought about her all the time, wanted her, grew angry thinking about the way other men looked at her. Mayhap it was just possessiveness; Slytherins excelled at that particular emotion. Love? Love was an elusive thing.

She wanted him too. The way she arched beneath him, the way his name fell from her lips and the way she clung to him as she fell over the edge of pleasure betrayed her true feelings – or what he imagined her true feelings to be. He could be wrong, but as he traced a finger down her bare, lightly freckled back, Draco liked to imagine she cared for him. Such sentiments were a weakness, but he hadn't ever planned to care for her and yet he did. It was a comforting thing to think that, perhaps, she might care for him too.

It went unsaid, however. There was no reason to voice what could never be, what he was unsure of in himself and even less sure of in her.

Ginny was a Weasley, the only surviving member of a family of blood traitors, and he was among the Dark Lord's favored. He could bed her, have her, love her even, but they could never truly be together. Just as feelings went unsaid, so too, did the fact that Draco could be married soon without much notice at all. Things had finally settled, the violence of the resistance minimal, and Voldemort was securing his power base. Neutral families were daily being 'persuaded' to marriage, a cementing of ties through blood and magic to those true and faithful to the new regime.

Those like himself, the young and loyal, were the sacrifices – or the favored, some would say; trusted enough to bear the weight of bringing those who had held their distance during the war, into the fold. He had avoided such machinations thus far, but it was questionable how much longer it would last. There was still a strong enough force of resistance fighters loose that it was a worry whether powerful, neutral families would loan support where they shouldn't. Voldemort reigned in fear, but there would always be politics, and money and influence were priceless commodities – even to a megalomaniac.

Families like the Nott's, the Jones' and the Greengrass' needed to be collected, if only for the illusion of comfort it would give the masses.

Draco understood, theoretically agreed, even. If one was to truly rule, the nobility had to be brought in by lure or force. Marriage had been used for centuries to cement ties and it made sense to use the ancient, unbreakable binding magics to tie the elite of the wizarding world together as a united front. However, when such machinations had become a reality for Pansy and Blaise, it had been proven none of them were immune to such maneuvering, especially as they were to take it as a token of favor. How Draco felt about such things he was careful to think only when he was truly alone. In a world such as theirs had become, errant thoughts were a liability if you hadn't taken the proper measures. Though he was a skilled Occlumens, Draco trusted no one, not even himself.

Despite, anger burned in him that anyone should _tell_ a Malfoy what to do, that the half-breed indirectly responsible for his mother's death dictate his life. There was no recourse in a world order wrought through war, blood and death, however, but to take the power that was at hand, no matter how it was doled.

It was the one thing Ginny didn't seem to understand.

He could touch her, bring her, make her lose herself to him, but if their conversations ever drifted past the cocoon they made, she would be instantly angry, shut down and order him from her room. Either that, or the too-keen interest which did not sit well with him either. She was watched, but not considered a threat to the regime. Sometimes he wondered if she was underestimated – sometimes he wondered if he cared. He knew she wanted him and an arrogant part of him suspected perhaps she might be half in love with him as well, but Draco wasn't so foolish not to suspect the other half hated him.

He sifted his fingers through her hair then, the ginger strands vivid against his nearly translucent skin. It was a damned color in this new world, would never allow them to slip beneath any radar even if they wanted to try and make it work somehow. Sighing, he slipped from her bed, the silk of the sheets sliding against his skin. They were a gift, red as the House she'd once been part of. The irony of the situation was not lost on Draco, not at all.

The air was cool against his skin, the warming charm having long since dissipated. It was no more than a few moments to pull his clothes on; trousers, button up, tie, vest, Italian leather shoes. Black robes were pulled over his shoulders, the material thick and luxurious, and it slid in a pool around him as he bent over Ginny's still-sleeping form and pressed a kiss to her brow.

"Good eve, my love."

She didn't stir and Draco disappeared quietly through the door, locking and warding it securely behind him.

oOo

When he Apparated into Malfoy Manor, Draco knew his father was not the only one there. The Dark Lord's aura, or whatever it is that animated the damned half-breed, was a sticky thing and it clung to the wards as one passed through them.

It was decidedly disturbing.

As the Dark Lord himself was decidedly disturbing as well, it suited. Draco sometimes wondered at the fact he could hold the wizarding world in thrall, but he was often enough afforded grisly reminders. The once Tom Riddle was ruthless and depraved. It wasn't out of love that they all followed his every word, but fear – and greed. Draco was not unaware of the thirst for power of his peers. To be close to the Dark Lord was to seemingly be the right hand of a god.

Draco hated it all. It had taken his mother, devoured her.

His father was addicted to it and whether that was a form of grief for what they had lost or his baser instincts, Draco did not know; perhaps both. His aunt was the Dark Lord's court torturer, his executioner, but his father? His father was his politician, his eyes and ears into all things. The perfect courtier, a role he'd embraced following the death of Narcissa in the war. Lucius has gone above and beyond to secure the Malfoy name – both of them had, but to what end? It was something Draco did not actively think about, for to do so was to tread a path that would certainly point him towards his own demise.

Perhaps he had once thought on sacrificing himself to rid the world of the half-breed who had brought about his mother's death, but she would have wanted him to live - _he_ wanted to live, though for what, he did not know. There was nothing but a wearisome half-life now, survival won each day ruthlessly through actions he could never say he was proud of, and the only light was a ginger woman who more than likely hated him.

"Tsk tsk, Draco," Bellatrix sing-songed, her voice a deliciously terrible thing rousing him from his thoughts as she moved around him. "You haven't been listening."

"Please repeat that. I'm afraid I don't quite understand?" he said carefully, dark gray eyes sliding from his father, to the Dark Lord, to Bellatrix, and back.

"It is quite simple, dear nephew," Bellatrix drawled, those dusky blue eyes that were so much like his mothers had been, chilling him when he met her gaze. "You will marry the Greengrass girl or I will have to kill the last in the line of the House of Black."

She smiled as if the latter thought pleased her and Draco dismissed Bellatrix, turning his attention instead to Lucius. "Father, are not the Greengrass' already secured? Devon and Daphne proved themselves and have taken the Mark, have they not?"

"They have, but it is Astoria that is resistant still. Despite her age, she garners a great amount of respect from a plethora of people." Lucius' lips curled then and Draco knew well enough to suspect what was to come next. "Including many members of the resistance. Her brother is suspected to be a half-blood resistance fighter."

"I still believe we should kill the girl," Bellatrix commented archly. "A proper death threat and a bit of torture would flush the boy to the surface."

"Ah, yes, but then we will only have the one when we might have them all, and we would have missed on using her to lull others. She is well loved on many levels of society. She will be very useful," Voldemort inserted smoothly, the red tint of his eyes glowing softly when Draco finally looked him full in the face. "Draco will marry the girl and earn her trust, we will find them all and then you may play with them, Bellatrix."

It was temporary then, this marriage, until the mission was complete. To some small degree, that was a comfort, a sign that he was, indeed, favored. It didn't sit well with Draco though. He didn't know the younger Greengrass heiress as he knew Daphne, housemate and yearmate, but he did know Astoria was pure. Pure, landed, wealthy and it sounded as if her branch of the Greengrass family had been well respected by all. They would be a great ally and yet when all was said and done, it sounded as if she would suffer the same fate as her half-blood brother – to hold secrets as she was suspected was treason.

Draco knew better than to say any of his thoughts aloud, or to even let them show upon his face. His life was illusion, half-truths and overt lies. It was not safe to live in any other way.

"It shall be done then, my lord," Draco finally said with a flourish of a bow, his black robes fanning out behind him with the elegant movement as he dipped his head. "I will wed her and find all she knows, in time."

When he stood, saw all their faces, he was nearly unnerved; he could hear his mother's voice whispering in his ear – how the mighty House of Black, the House of Malfoy had fallen so far.

Draco missed his mother, but he was glad she had not lived to see what their family had become – lapdogs of a half-human lunatic.

"And then you can help me find what makes her scream, nephew," Bellatrix drawled, dusky blue eyes watching him in the way that a snake does when it's of a mind to strike. It was unnerving, to be sure, but Draco was used to his aunt and she would not lay a hand upon him unless Voldemort gave the order.

He was safe. For now.

"Perhaps, aunt." His face was smooth, emotionless as he deliberately pulled his gaze from hers to his father. "When?"

"Devon Greengrass was very amenable to my suggestion that such a measure would please the Dark Lord. He will be awaiting your owl." Lucius raised a brow at his son.

"Very well. Post haste, then." He'd known it could happen, expected even. He loathed how little he could do about it. To do anything but what he was told was to be at the Dark Lord's mercy, likely given to his aunt to play with. But what had he truly become? To wed a pure, noble woman with full knowledge that she was nothing more than bait to those whom she loved and loved her in return?

It was a pity he cared about such things still. He knew better. "Thank you, my lord. I shant disappoint."

"No, young Malfoy, you won't." Final and binding. Draco felt the weight of it inscribed in magical ink on his arm.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

.

It wasn't the first time Astoria had been angry at the circumstances in which she found herself and it certainly wouldn't be the last. She knew she should consider herself lucky that she was alive, but the fact of the matter was that she _was_ alive and thus couldn't help but feel angry at her powerlessness.

Her parents were gone, the war having stolen them in senseless violence – or so her uncle told her. She was not so naive to think it hadn't been done deliberately; _someone_ had planned the fall of the last neutral Greengrass's and she would never believe it was the freedom fighters who had been blamed. They did not seek to annihilate purebloods – only Voldemort.

Thinking of the terrible man-thing who held such an iron fist in her life for all that she had never met him, anger bubbled in her once more.

Purity was a myth, a phantom, an ideal that could never be fulfilled. They were a dying breed, those families who could still claim purity, and one day they would be extinct. It was the way of the future. It did not mean they would ever lose their culture, the nobility that defined the core values of the wizarding world, but fear was a nasty thing. Fear of the unknown, of the loss of power. It'd driven them to a world full of nothing _but_ fear and pain.

Astoria hated her uncle, her cousin. She loathed those she'd grown up with who had taken the mark; could they not see how they killed themselves a little every day? Could they not see they were _slaves_? Her skin was yet unblemished and she thanked whatever deity was out there that it was so. She would die before her time, to be sure, but at least she would die her own person.

The door clicked open and Astoria shifted on the window seat to spy who might have disturbed her quiet. Her cell.

"Astoria, Father would have you in the gentleman's lounge." Daphne's lips curled into a smirk that Astoria did not trust. Her cousin was duplicitous and ice cold, as frigid as the presentation she gave; gloriously tall, blond and beautiful in wintry sort of way.

"I shall be down momentarily. Thank you, Daphne." The words were polite, pleasantly neutral, and Astoria hated every moment that she had to hide how she felt.

When the door clicked shut behind her cousin, Astoria's gaze went back to the window and the frost covered grounds below. It was just as desolate and hopeless out of doors; the sky was an endless cloud of murky gray that was as ominous as her summoning.

She knew why she had not died with her parents. They wanted Michael. They wanted her bastard half-blood brother, leader of a group of freedom fighters – the last bastions of the body that had once called themselves the Order of the Pheonix and Dumbledore's Army. They wanted Neville and Ginny and Roger, Lisa and Luna. There were so few of them left now, all broken up into small groups.

Most had died in the war. Harry had fallen, Ron Weasley too. It was said Hermione Granger was yet alive, but it'd been over a year since she'd been seen. Astoria shouldn't know these things. She shouldn't know how many her brother traveled with, or that they hadn't been more than a fortnight at their last safe house before the Death Eaters had found them. She shouldn't know that Roger was badly injured and they weren't sure if he would make it or not, not without the medical care so badly needed that they couldn't get.

Voldemort despised Muggles and everything to do with them, but he was thorough; every Muggle hospital was riddled with spells and alarm wards, every train station and major port, the same. The International Apparation stations were corrupt. She feared the day she would no longer receive messages from her brother – feared more that she would be notified he had been found. Either meant death, and there was little other reason to keep _trying_ when everyone she loved was either dead or hunted, all the others she had once had faith in now branded with the Dark Mark and aligned with those who had murdered her family.

Sighing, Astoria pulled her gaze from the looming storm on the horizon and slipped from the window seat. The black silk of her dress whispered against her skin and her heels made a light tap against the stone floor. She looked a ghost framed in the color of the night, the hue stark against her moonlight skin, but she'd worn no other since her papa had died, since Michael's mother, _her_ mother, had gone with him.

Devon would be wanting her and her uncle was not a patient man; she did not care to sport the evidences of his displeasure, not this eve. The bruises covered with cosmetic charms from the last she had displeased him had not yet healed.

oOo

"You have been briefed then," Draco commented idly, hands clasped behind his back as his eyes skimmed over Devon Greengrass, assessing this man who would murder and sell his family.

"Thoroughly, and we are happy to serve." Late fifties, peppered hair, cunningly aware dark eyes and a hard set to his mouth. But for the cold assessing gaze, he was nothing Draco might have imagined as Daphne's father; his blond yearmate was as fair as this man was dark. Despite the coloring of the family, Draco could see that Devon was a shrewd man, canny. It was certainly obvious why Voldemort had accepted him into the elite ranks after the war. Neutral, the Greengrass's had always been, but it was plainly obvious that Devon had chafed at straddling the fence for so long.

He was very plainly of the same ilk as many of the Marked. Perhaps that was why he'd murdered his own blood - the only thing standing between him and whatever glory he perceived – to be of the Dark Lord's elite.

It made Draco wonder at why he'd spared his niece at all. Though, he knew better. He could see the sharp cunning in the man standing across from him; he had seen value in his niece. She was another expendable pawn in his quest for power. Such betrayals of family from a clearly sane man made Draco sick, though he did not let the thought show on his face or countenance.

"I will be sure to affirm the Dark Lord of your allegiance," Draco finally said with a small nod, attention drawn from the man framed in the flames of the fire, to the door when it clicked.

Whatever he'd been expecting, the small woman framed in the doorway was not it.

He'd known Daphne, though they hadn't ever been close. Daphne was tall and lithely beautiful, all the shades of his mother and himself; fair from her white-blond hair to her ice blue eyes.

The woman in the door looking from himself to Devon was warily hesitant, delicately small, and dark in every way Daphne was light but for the ivory pale of her skin. She was pretty and he wondered at why he might have missed her when they were in school, though he hadn't ever been prone to pay any attention to the younger years.

He was not done studying this woman he was to marry, not at all, but Draco stirred into motion and strode across the room, swept his robe away in a flourish and lightly grasped her hand to press a light kiss to her knuckles. "Miss Greengrass," he murmured by way of greeting. "The room is warmer for your presence. Thank you for joining us."

When he slid his gaze up to hers, he did not miss the startled surprise etched in her features and he was unable to stop his eyes from traveling to the slight part of her lips.

Astoria's dark, alarmed gaze followed Draco as he stood to his full height again. Something was amiss. Draco was one of the favored and that he was in her uncle's home, that her presence had been requested ... it did not bode well and a chill went down her spine.

Draco's mouth nearly turned down as he saw fear flash in her eyes.

"Why don't you come further in into the room, my dear. We shant bite you," Devon cajoled, the warmth of humor touching his voice.

Astoria knew it for a lie, or more, for truth caged perfectly in the deception of humor. Her uncle _would_ bite. She'd felt the sting of his anger on more than one occasion since she'd come to live on the main estate with him and Daphne.

"Yes uncle, of course," she murmured softly, dropping her gaze from Draco demurely and shifting to the side to pass by him.

"Allow me?" he said, offering her his arm.

Again, Astoria felt unease slither through her, but she knew she could not show it, not in this room, not with these men. So she nodded and slid her hand into the crook of Draco's arm, murmured a soft, "thank you."

Draco watched her longer than he likely should have. She was hiding. He knew she was hiding things, but there was more to it than that. He did not expertly maneuver around the most frightening men and women in their world without having learned to read every nuance of a person.

"I'm glad you find Draco acceptable as an escort," Devon said then, pulling their attention to his person.

"Yes, uncle?" she ventured, unsure, frightened and angry all at once for the smug victory she could see in his features.

"Yes, dear niece," Devon continued as they came to stand before him near the grate, the flames licking at the shadows in the candlelit room. "Draco Malfoy looks for a pure wife who would give him pure children, a woman who will yield as she ought."

The smile that curled his lips was not friendly, but ominous, and gooseflesh covered every bit of bare skin at both the way her uncle was looking at her and the implications behind his words, the hint he'd not yet solidified with truth. He was teasing her for sport; another reason to hate him.

"He has asked for your lovely hand in marriage, dear niece, and I have found your acceptance an honor to the family."

She went still. Astoria had known something was coming, but the reality of it filling the air, accepted by fate, was earth-shattering.

Draco knew how such things worked, had seen worse than this little _tête-à-tête_, but still, something about the situation, the way Devon Greengrass was looking at his niece, so obviously helpless and scared, did not sit right with him.

He'd watched his Aunt Bella torture, had expertly dispensed the Killing Curse himself, and had seen Voldemort torment prisoners for information. Little had he seen blood turn on blood. He did what he must to keep the power that enabled him to live and navigate the new order, but _blood_ was what it was all about. The war had been fought for blood. Draco did not truly believe purity was the way of the world, but might made right and he was with the mighty. His family had _always_ come first though. Or it had, once upon a time. His mother would be disappointed in him and his father.

It was the guilt ridden thought that had him covering the tiny hand in the crook of his arm with his own and offering the shocked and shaken woman at his side a softer look than her uncle. "It would be an honor," he said, surprised that he meant it.

What that suggested, he did not know. There was still Ginny and his mission, but he could offer small mercies.

"You don't even know me?" she breathed, wide eyes shifting from her uncle to Draco. "What would behoove you to marry _me_? I am the lesser of the heirs, daughter of the younger son. I am orphan now," she could feel the hard, angry gaze of her uncle and Astoria rushed to add, "taken in by my generous uncle. Would not Daphne be more suitable for the honor as Mrs. Malfoy? Your house is great and I am but-"

"Astoria." It was one word, but Devon's voice cut her off.

Draco felt her tense, tremble, then go unnaturally still. "Come with me, to Malfoy Manor," he interjected, knowing in that moment that the lure of _elsewhere_ would be this little snake's undoing. It was startlingly clear to him in that moment that she was prisoner here, and though there was no marks on her pristine ivory skin, Draco was no fool. They were somewhere. "Come meet my father and see what I should give you."

Astoria knew there was more to this set up. They were _both_ up to _something_, but her dark eyes shot to Draco at the invitation.

To be away from the Greengrass estate, from her uncle and her cousin. To be away from Devon's heavy hand and Daphne's biting words about her step-mother, her father for adopting a 'half-breed' bastard. Perhaps into another prison, but at least it wouldn't be _this one_.

Even though she knew something was amiss, that there was only ill-intent here - she knew of the hasty marriages that had been going on, knew that this sudden proposal could only mean her own peril in some way - despite it all, it gave her hope that it might be better if she was away from this soul-sucking, desolate place where her uncle and cousin knew enough of her family to make every dig more painful than the last.

"Yes," she said then, the word breathless and rushed. "Yes," she said again, warmth filling her for the first time in longer than she could remember, warmth for a hope she'd only held kindled in her heart for her brother and his survival. "I am honored to accept your proposal," she said, bright eyes finding Draco's. "Our family is honored to share blood with you."

He'd known it would be her undoing; she'd said the perfect words, what all pureblood women were taught to say, but Draco's attention was only focused on the glowing tint of pink at the height of her cheeks, brightening her eyes. She was exhilarated, happy for this change. He knew why, an easy deduction, but in that moment, Draco realized Astoria Greengrass was beautiful.

A cruel, satisfied smile curled Devon's lips. "And so it shall be."


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

.**  
**

Draco traced the freckles patterning Ginny's skin with a finger, touch so light it brought gooseflesh where he passed. She was bare, the stiff white sheet of the inn's bed draped haphazardly over her hip.

With her back to him, it was all a tease. The slope from shoulder to waist, down, and then up and over the smooth curve of her hip until the fabric obscured what lie beneath. Draco knew what was there, but as always, Ginny was an enigma wrapped in a mystery and despite the things he did know about her, there was so much more he _didn't_ know that she never failed to capture his attention.

Not that it was hard to keep it when she was reclined in bed with him, bare and still glistening from their exertions.

"It will be a little while until I'm able to see you again," he said finally, the reason he'd sought her out in the first place. As always, though, he'd been distracted by the _want_ that had somehow slithered into him when he found himself in her presence.

"Oh?" Ginny did not turn over and Draco continued to trace patterns from freckle to freckle on her back, over her hip. With his hands on her, she didn't know if she could contain the keen interest in her voice and counted herself fortunate that he'd not made such an announcement to her face. "Why?"

"There is something that will require the sole of my attentions and focus for the foreseeable future," he replied, dark eyes catching at her pulse, how it seemed to be rabbiting now. His lips curled slightly and he flattened his hand, palm splaying out, and slid his hand to cup her breast. Draco could feel her heart beating quicker there and it pleased him that he affected her so.

"I will not neglect you, Ginevra." _I would love you, if I was capable of such a thing._

Ginny did glance over her shoulder then, lips slightly parted for the way he was touching her, breath leaving her in a tiny gasp when his hand slipped down her body to cup her warmth. Her brown eyes were dark and swirling for she was not unaffected, but they were yet serious. "Will you be very far away then?"

Her interest in his proximity pleased Draco, as did the slightly abandoned look on her face. It was the depth and mystery in her eyes that held him though, made him wonder at all her secrets.

"Not very." He slipped a finger into her warmth then, felt the ignition of want that always sluiced through him when she shuddered and her breath caught. Once upon a time it had been barbs and glares that he'd earned from this ginger woman it was a sin to want, but now he pulled forth other reactions, just as visceral.

"What keeps you then?" she breathed, shifting towards him and his touch, hands reaching for him. So familiar were their bodies with the other that it was really not a thought at all when her foot traveled own the back of his thigh as his hips shifted snugly into hers. She was damned for enjoying him, damned thrice that there was a part of her he held, but perhaps her damnation would be worth it in the end.

Should he lie? He should, he knew he should, but as her hands raked through his hair, down his back, dug into the base of his spine as they moved together, Draco found caution was very far away. It was slower this time, languorous, but just as heady as the hot, fast, unquenchable thing that had barely allowed them through the door before he filled her and sated them both.

"I'm to be married," he breathed into her neck, hands fisted in her hair as their bodies moved, entwined, heavy with the release that was coming for them too slowly, that would soon push them past their control. "It is His wish."

Ginny's eyes flew open, a frown knit her brow. Her thoughts were scattered; it was not so easy to find coherent thought when Draco felt _so good_ in her, on her. It made what she had to do easier, and harder, too. She _had_ to have her wits about her, at least for a few more moments.

"Draco, but," she gasped, a breathy moan slipping her lips as she arched into him, body shuddering as they found a faster pace. "But... to whom? Why?" She bit her lip then, nails biting into his skin as she let herself say what was on the tip of her tongue next, both because she wanted to and because it would encourage him to answer her questions. "_Pleasedon'tstop_."

"Won't," he murmured, hips moving hard and fast with hers, body shuddering towards another peak, even as she writhed beneath him, _because_ she writhed beneath him. "Have to," he added on a breath. "Astoria, little Greengrass," on another before he lost all train of thought, instinct riding him as he nuzzled through her hair until he licked a long line over her skin, tongue following the straining, delicate chord of her neck where he bit down.

Her eyes flew open once again and Ginny was glad, not for the first time, that Draco really did affect her so. She wouldn't have been able to cover up the gasp of surprise and alarm if he hadn't pulled her over the heady edge of stars and pleasure with the lovely bite of pain that made the heated thing deep in her core shatter, had her crying out.

She hated herself at times like this, for almost loving what he did to her, but it was also moments like this that made what she'd chosen to do, worth it.

There were many reasons, but slips of information like what he'd just betrayed made it seem like perhaps it wasn't all in vain. Resentment and self-loathing be damned. Draco be damned. She hated that this was easier for her than it should be, hated herself, but there was nothing else now. Just this and hope. This _for_ hope.

She pet his hair, both their bodies slick and warm, fitted perfectly as the stars receded from their vision, and Ginny wondered if it would ever be a hope fulfilled.

He could almost _feel_ her thinking, even now in the aftermath of their love making. He knew he should be more cautious, but everyone would know who he was to wed soon enough. It would be in all the papers, the word on every tongue. He wanted her to hear it from him first.

What Draco most craved he would never admit; he wanted to know if it made her jealous, angry, upset. He might be weak for caring what she thought, wondering if she might be jealous. His mother would have told him such things made him stronger. It made the fight something more visceral, something _worth_ dying for, she'd once said.

He missed her. Yet another thing it was not truly safe to admit; deep emotions perceived in the presence of the wrong people would be a damnation, blood in shark infested waters.

Draco sighed and his arms tightened around Ginny. It could all be a lie with her. He knew it was a possibility, but part of him insisted it couldn't be. Irrational, but still there.

He was clinging to smoke; everything lies and illusions. Why should this be any different?

"Draco?" Her voice was soft, near sleep.

"Hmm?" He pressed a kiss to the mark he'd made on her skin.

"It's cold." As if to illustrate the point, she shivered.

Perhaps this was why he was here, with her. Because in that moment his lips curled into a small smile against her skin and he pulled the blanket up over both of them. "I'll keep you warm," he promised.


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

.**  
**

It all went very fast, though Astoria hadn't really expected anything different. She knew she had been courted for a reason, knew it was probably because of Michael and was ever careful for it.

Still, it was a little shocking to find herself in her new suite of rooms in a white gown, blinking at herself in the mirror and the heavy ring that weighed on her hand. She was a Malfoy now.

_She was a Malfoy now_.

Less than two weeks after Draco had shown up at her uncle's estate, Astoria was married to him. It was more startling for the fact that she had only seen him once between the initial meeting and when she'd been brought to him for the magical binding ceremony.

It was nothing as she'd dreamed as a girl.

Once upon a time before Voldemort had ruined everything, she'd had a family, one that loved each other. When she'd been a young girl, she and Michael's mother, _her mother_, had planned out her wedding to the last detail. It would have happened out of doors in the late summer, a stringed quartet filling the air. There would have been floating candles overhead as she and her husband shared their first dance. Her Papa would have given her away, and Michael would have played his guitar. Her Mother would have soothed all her fears and held her hand, dabbed her eyes just before it was time.

That had been once upon a time.

The reality had afforded the luxury of choosing her own gown, but instead of Lilian assuring her that the world would be right, that the man to take her hand would love her and care for her, and if not, she and her Papa would take care of him, it was Daphne's icy, assessing gaze and impersonal touch flicking at a loose curl. Instead of her Papa's warm hand and laughing eyes giving her away, it had been his elder brother, all too quick to get rid of her however best benefited himself.

No, it had been nothing like what she'd dreamed of as a girl.

She wondered if Draco had seen himself the pawn of a mad man, if it had been his dream to be married with the Dark Lord looming as the ancient magic was wrought to bind them 'til death. It was the way a true binding was done and Astoria wasn't fool enough to think it wouldn't be her death that came first. It wasn't a matter of if, but when.

She sighed. She had only traded one prison for another. Draco didn't strike her as a man who would assault her for making him angry, though, which was something. Still, is this what he wanted? Did she even really care? She must to an extent, if only because he was her husband and her keeper, though one that was just another extension of the Dark Lord's icy reach into her life.

Movement caught her eye and her distant gaze lifted. In the vanity's mirror she could see Draco leaning against the frame in the doorway. Despite that she knew these were the rooms they would share, it still made her skin prickle in wariness to have him in her space, by themselves, watching her like he was.

"Are you in need of something, Master Malfoy?" she asked, features calm but for the emotion swirling in her eyes, something she'd never been able to hide.

"Draco." He didn't move from his lean in the doorway. "It is my first name. You should use it," he said, mercury eyes watching her carefully, assessing and weighing.

She had the manners all of them had been bred to, and if not for her devout attachment to her half-blood brother, Astoria would have been highly sought for marriage; pretty, unobtrusive and pure. It was what most of his peers aspired to in a wife, what was desired for the bearer of the heirs of the nobility.

It was the opposite of what he sought for in a woman. Ginny was pretty and pure, but she would never be unobtrusive. She was fire embodied; when in a room, she drew everyone's eyes. She felt everything with the whole of her being, or _did_ everything with the whole of her being, in any case. Draco sometimes wished he knew more of what thoughts passed behind her light brown eyes, but she was ever an enigma and he'd be fool to think he had figured her out.

Astoria, however, was easy enough to place. She was the daughter of the youngest in a noble line, and her brother was a suspected criminal in this new world. The loyal attachment she held for the half-blood – something which a part of him noted and appreciated - and her refusal to renounce his name had brought her here. A sacrificial lamb to his machinations for the Dark Lord.

Again, his mother's voice sounded in his mind, but he pushed it away.

"We are married," he added when she didn't say anything. "You may call me by my given name, Astoria."

It was truly the first time _her own_ name had fallen from his lips and Astoria wasn't entirely sure she was comfortable with the familiarity. He hadn't earned it, hadn't earned anything. She knew better than to indulge in her pique, however; this world didn't allow for such luxuries.

Her face barely moved, but Draco still saw her dark eyes spark and his own focus narrowed. She wasn't quite meek, this woman he'd been bid to marry. Observing her face reflected in the mirror, Draco found that he couldn't quite read the dark pools of her eyes now; they were expressive, but with so many things one could not be pricked from the rest – not without provocation, at least.

"Draco then," she tried, the name unfamiliar to her tongue. She'd known of him in school, of course, several years her senior, but had not been wont to socialize with him or with his circle.

When she didn't say anything else, Draco pushed off the frame of the door and moved further into the room. Focused as he was on this woman - his _wife_ now - he did not miss the slight tensing in her back, the spark of something in her eyes. She was watching him approach in the vanity mirror, had never turned around to face him properly in the first place, but as he came near, his eyes narrowed slightly.

Bending over her, he was aware that she was uncomfortable with his proximity, but he lifted his hand to brush her skin.

Astoria held still, breath caught. She knew they were married, knew she would be expected to fulfill her duties as wife - even if she was half sure she wasn't going to live long enough to truly see them through - but she'd not expected him to come for her this night. Why, she wasn't sure. Why _wouldn't_ any of them claim what they'd won unfairly?

"Who did this to you?" Draco's brow was furrowed as his fingers brushed lightly just at the height of her cheek, around the curve of her eye.

As focused as she'd been on him, of his presence weighing over her, the light touch, and the expectations she'd not let herself think on prior, Astoria was a caught unaware by the odd question.

Her dark eyes flew to her reflection and her lips parted. "It's nothing," she murmured.

He'd not been sure, but her reaction confirmed it. His sureness in what he'd caught a glimpse of counteracted the presumption of the disillusionment charm and what was underneath became more clear for his knowledge of it. A fading bruise.

Draco couldn't say he was entirely surprised, though at the same time, he couldn't say he had been expecting it. Pansy's father had been anything but gentle with her, but she'd fought back. Ruthlessly. Astoria might have more bite than he thought at first glance, but she was a delicate blossom.

There was no reason to _beat_ anything out of her. "Your uncle?"

"It's nothing," she insisted. Astoria had foregone renewing the cosmetic charm for she hadn't expected to see anyone so soon. There was no use covering it up now, however, and her chin tipped up slightly, defiantly. She'd lost much, and her uncle had literally tried to beat more out of her, or to just plain punish her for perceived slights and disrespect, but she had her pride yet.

Draco literally _watched_ something slide through her, something sizzlingly warm. Just a peek as her back straightened, her chin tipped, her dark eyes met his defiantly in the mirror as her skin heated beneath his light touch. Perhaps her uncle had found reasons then; he'd watched his aunt, others, and the Dark Lord beat upon strength like she was showing now until there was nothing left. A game. A challenge.

There'd been a particular reason he had been called upon to marry her and seduce her in other ways, and it was quickly becoming clear why.

Her uncle had obviously tried the back of his hand. Torture and other, darker things would be next if he failed in the subtler arts, and regardless, if the Dark Lord got what he sought, she would be dead for the proof of affiliation, aiding and abetting.

He brushed his fingers over the old bruise, the yellows and greens out of place on her china doll features with sparking dark eyes. "You're fortunate nothing broke."

Though if his aunt had her way, this tiny little woman would break in many, many ways. He'd known this, but for the first time, really and truly faced with her as a person more than a meek and obedient mouse, Draco found himself conflicted. It was terrible that it hadn't occurred to him before, he knew - Narcissa would be disappointed - but he'd only ever considered his own survival for so long that truly caring what happened to others was often a luxury.

"He was free with his 'lessons', but it would never do to ruin the goods permanently, especially where such fence-sitting eyes might see." It was ever her downfall, the way she wasn't quite able to hide her emotions in her eyes, and they were warm and angry as she met Draco's in the mirror. The more he dwelt on the fading bruise, the more irritated and agitated she became about how she'd obtained it. "I'm sure you've been told I have friends in many places, that many of them have a certain amount of wealth and power. Perhaps that many look to me for reassurance, for my papa was always neutral and kind, and should his daughter be well in this new order, perhaps they might find themselves well too."

Astoria's chin tipped away from his touch then, and the anger at everything – the way she'd been treated, the death of her family, her brother hunted, her own state since everything of any importance had been stripped away – weighed on her and brought her frustration and seething distress to the surface.

"I am not unaware of the precariousness of my life, _husband_," she nearly spat. If not for her rearing, it would have been vulgar, but she was ever poised. "The annals will say my father and mother were casualties of war, but no battle came to our warded estate. My family was murdered, my brother is hunted and I can only imagine the reasons I have been spared. Politics, to be sure. My uncle was always more than passingly interested if I had ever heard word form Michael as well. You have seen how my denials of contact have displeased him."

She could not stop the choke of tears in the back of her throat. Astoria hadn't ever been good at dissembling, not completely. She could hide for a time, under the radar only, however. If anyone chose to study her, or cared to provoke something from her, she'd never been able to stop the play of emotions on her face, in her voice and manner.

"Yes, _Draco_," she said, eyes hot and angry behind the tears welling. "I am quite lucky nothing broke. Thank you ever so much for your concern."

Whatever he might have been expecting, the spill of words, the emotions heating the air and prickling across his skin was not it. Unlike the tears gleaming in her eyes, the angry glare she was aiming at him in the mirror and the sting of her feelings perfuming the space they both occupied, Draco's surprise did not show in his face nor any other aspect of his manner and bearing. He'd not been in the Dark Lord's court the last several years for losing himself when faced with something that astonished or disgusted him.

There was nothing he could say. Nothing that would be truth, or even a convincing lie. She was right, and it'd been so long since he'd heard such brazen truth that he was somewhat disarmed by it.

She reminded him of his mother.

Bold, bright, proud. How had he ever mistaken her for meek?

Such thoughts were pushed away, however. He was increasingly chafing at what this assignment entailed, but now was not the time to examine or pick at it.

"You're welcome, _wife_," he finally said, and despite himself, something close to her own sharpness slipped into his tones.

This was even more shocking to him, even moreso than a glimpse of the woman she truly was; he'd not indulged in his own temper in longer than he could remember. Not even with Ginny. But what was there truly to be angry at with Ginny? She'd just ignored him at first, then bit at him with words - how he was a fool, proud, blind and weak. Nevertheless, she'd still come alive under his body, had reached for him with greedy hands.

Perhaps it was that Ginny attacked his person. A straightforward game with no pretenses. Yet, here with Astoria and her bold words, there were layers of meaning, things she was not saying, things she had said to throw red herrings to and fro. He could see everything she said was true, and yet he could feel her misleading, mocking, lacing every word with something more than its initial meaning.

She was Slytherin, daughter of an old family, noble and proud.

He wanted to shake her until she just said what she meant, and he had the most ridiculous urge to glare sullenly at her.

"Perhaps you will let me recast your charm so that I might escort you down to the ball thrown in our honor," he said then, not really a question as he shifted slightly to her side and slid his fingers beneath her chin, forced her to look up at him. The tears in her eyes were dried now, gone, but the heat of her anger lingered and he could feel the warmth of it in her skin beneath his hand.

"Will you dance and smile?" he asked archly, wand in hand as he met her sparking gaze with his own. "Will you pretend, or could you? Perhaps you will demure and hide your acerbic tongue," he pondered aloud, thumb brushing over her bottom lip, the gatekeeper of her biting words. It pleased him in a contrary way that her glare darkened at the stolen touch. "Or," he said, something akin to her own darkness creeping into his mercury gaze, "perhaps I shall provoke you into a temper for all to see, hmm?"

Draco flicked his wand then, murmured the spell that had her bruise disappearing. Only flawless moonlight skin remained and after thoroughly examining his handiwork several moments, Draco shifted his gaze back to hers. "It did not take so long before your hand was revealed, Astoria." He released her chin, stepped back. "Though you've yet to play your ace."

"And you have yet to discern anything of great importance." She sniffed then and held her hand up, the gesture genteel and beautiful despite the surliness in the act. "Escort me to our wedding reception, and do refrain from stepping on the hem of my gown when we dance. I rather this one."

He had the most ridiculous urge to _smile_ and out of everything, _that_ nearly made him lose his composure completely.

Instead, he bowed and took her tiny hand in his, tucked it into his arm and led her out the door and to the grand staircase where they would be announced to their guests. He did not look at her, but his voice was even when he said, "I rather like that gown as well. I shall endeavor to heed all my training and leave it be."

Astoria had composed herself again, shields in place as they headed towards the viper's pit, but the surprising comment had her eyes darting up to him. Before she could say anything, however, they were announced.

Damn him, but he'd planned it that way. She wasn't sure about the twitch she could have sworn she saw at the corner of his mouth though. Likely a trick of the light, but there was no time to linger, not now.

There was genteel applause as he led her down the stairs, and it was more than a little unreal to hear her name echoing in her new home.

_Master and Mistress Malfoy._


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

.**  
**

Several months passed and Astoria settled into a pattern. She had her own rooms and Draco had yet to call on her for wifely duties. He and his father were rarely in the manor and for the first time in years, she found herself with the _freedom_ to do as she pleased.

It was disconcerting. Part of her wanted to indulge in this seeming escape fully, but it was _too easy_. She was _too comfortable_.

Something was obviously amiss.

She'd known from the beginning that nothing was ever as it seemed, especially here, but it was getting easier to forget that she was to be wary and watchful, suspicious. Draco and Lucius were courteous and respectful - the embodiment of a genteel member of the peerage, something her uncle could take notes on, she thought sourly. Though she had been somewhat resistant to it at first, she had taken on the care and running of Malfoy Manor and the estates. Also, her company had been sought before, but invitations had poured in for Mistress Malfoy's presence at tea parties and other balls and galas.

It'd been all too easy to languish in the freedom of movement, to have some control over _something_, anything, even as simple as preparing the week's menu and overseeing the slight renovations to her rooms. It was difficult to remember this was all given for a _reason_, one she knew was likely detrimental to her person and her brother, but her excuses about feeling out this new regime for information that might be helpful to Michael had turned into something she grudgingly enjoyed.

It was just lovely not to fear the back of someone's hand for wanting to visit anyone, or for insisting on anything at all.

Astoria knew it was a lie. It had to be. That Draco _hadn't_ asked for her to come to his rooms was truth enough of the fact. She half suspected he had someone on the side. Why such a thought should put a delicate frown on her brow, she wasn't entirely sure. She didn't care what he did; he was a spy into her life and the longer he was preoccupied by another, the better.

She might be able to find out something that would be helpful to Michael, to Ginny and Roger and Luna. There was so few of them left now and she could only hope those were still well. It'd been more months than she cared to think on since her brother had been able to safely get word to her. That she even enjoyed her place at Malfoy Manor, even a little bit, made her sick sometimes. Michael and so many others she cared for were still on the run, scared for their lives every day, _hunted_.

Bringing her teacup to her lips, Astoria took a delicate sip from the china cup. The sun was trying to shine through the clouds, but in the solarium, it was yet bright and cheery, such a room she would never have thought Malfoy Manor to house. As she glanced about at the walls of windows, Astoria had the resigned realization that she, too, was hunted. The entrapments were just more lovely, comfortable and lulling.

Holding the tiny china cup in one hand then, Astoria held her left hand out, brown eyes thoughtfully intent on the ostentatious emerald upon her finger. Draco hadn't said if it meant anything and she hadn't studied her wedding ring overly much, but she could tell it was old, likely an heirloom.

Her ball and chain.

"It was my mother's," Draco said from his haunt in the double doors.

He was used to being quiet, of not announcing his presence until he was ready; it was much easier to stumble upon information that way. It likely wasn't something he needed to do in his own home when no one was about but Astoria and the elves, but it was habit. And besides, he might find her doing something that would be reportable to Voldemort.

That he'd nothing to give the Dark Lord was a cause for concern on his own part, for his own safety and the security of his standing in the new regime, but he found himself more reluctant as time passed to really _look_ for anything that might incriminate her. That he'd been particularly wont to busy himself outside the manor had nothing to do with the fact that he was avoiding her and the inevitable end to this affair.

Or whatever it was he found himself in. Married to a damned woman.

Married to a delicately lovely, damned woman, he corrected himself as he stepped into the solarium. Her eyes were widened slightly, startled at his sudden presence. He'd time to study her at length while standing in the door, but his canny mercury gaze flicked over her features, from the large dark eyes that dominated her face, the long dark lashes. Her lips were slightly parted, a subtle pink that caught the blushing hues in her pale skin. Dark hair slid over her shoulder as she shifted, and Draco's gaze followed the silky curl until it came to rest on her back.

"And my great-grandmother's before her," he added as he came to the chaise lounge she was perched upon. "It suits you."

"It swallows my hand," she countered, dark eyes following him as he seated himself at the end of the settee. Her heart was still rabbiting in her chest from the suddenness of his presence, entirely unexpected at this time of day, even more startling given her prior line of thought.

"My mother said there was no such thing as a gem too large for a woman bred to wear such lovely things," Draco said, gray eyes bright as he reached out to catch her hand, hold up the ring in question for both to plainly see.

He'd not taken particular care in selecting which ring to give her. There'd been many heirlooms to choose from, but the ring his mother had worn had called to him. He missed her, to be sure, but why he'd brought one of her prized possessions into such an assignment, he wasn't sure. Narcissa would not approve of what he was doing; marrying a pureblood woman with the intention of betraying her to the Dark Lord when he was finally able to pry something from her that would bring her half-blood brother and whoever he was with, to the surface.

The ring did suit her though, despite how large it looked on her delicate, fine-boned hand.

Astoria held still, dark eyes flicking from where his thumb was brushing lightly over her knuckles, to his face. His gaze was distant, thoughts obviously somewhere. On his mother perhaps? This was the first he'd mentioned her, but it was obvious in the timbre of his voice that he cared for her. Mayhap that was why she was dead. Astoria might be a cynic now, but everyone _she_ had cared about was dead, or wished it by someone.

Despite her tumbling thoughts, however, she was focused on Draco, on the nuances of his face, the soft, warm brush of his thumb. He was terribly hard to read.

"Did you love your mother very much then?" she asked, both galled at her own audacity and intensely curious about what he would say, what it might reveal about this man who was her husband.

Draco's gaze shot up to hers. "Yes."

The very lack of hesitation or calculation startled Astoria yet again and her hand tightened around his slightly. "I loved mine as well, and my father."

"You called him your 'papa'," Draco said as he watched her, eyes flicking from her lips to her doe eyes. So big and dark, it was easy to think she was an ingénue, innocent and untouched, but he'd seen the chocolate sparked on their wedding day, spiced with anger and the slide of emotions.

"Yes," she said, echoing his simple statement. It felt too personal, these words, few as they were, and Astoria wasn't half sure she regretted asking after his mother.

Draco knew little of the Greengrass family, save the interactions he'd had with Daphne in school. There had been several meetings with the blonde's father leading up to the wedding, and the briefings, but Draco was not overly familiar with the family despite how old they were, noble as his own. What he did know was that they were generationally neutral; Switzerland. Until now. Devon Greengrass was firmly with the Dark Lord and grasping for whatever power and standing he could find.

It was then he realized he was still holding her hand and gently set it back down in her lap, gaze lingering on her ring a long moment before he caught her eyes. "A close friend of mine is hosting an unconventional gala on All Hallow's Eve and our presence is requested."

"Meaning we are to go," she surmised aloud as she set her teacup aside. Such things were not surprising, nor did they overly bother her. Draco hadn't asked much of her, not even the pleasure of her body; she could go to a gala, unconventional or no. "May I ask after who this friend is and what attire I should acquire? I have not seen any invitations in the post that would indicate an unorthodox approach."

Draco's lips curled ever so slightly. She was dainty and soft, delicately beautiful and she seemed so very breakable. He'd no doubt that this little kitten could be broken, but she had her claws and there was a well of strength. It still managed to alternately surprise and amuse him when he'd the pleasure of watching her shoulders shift back slightly, steel sliding down her spine as she fortified herself, the slight uptilt of her chin as if it was all below her anyways.

_So_ very much like his mother.

"Pansy. You might remember her by the surname of Parkinson, but she has been married to Theodore Nott for over a year. They are hosting a soirée befitting our ancestry." The theme was so ridiculous and indecorous that Draco's mouth curled even more, a smirk dancing in his eyes now. Only Pansy could pull off such a blatant dismissal of propriety. "We are to be prepared to pull a spell from the bonfire, so to speak, to dance with the gods as they once did before the two worlds were irrevocably sundered."

Astoria's brow rose slightly. She knew of what he spoke; they'd all grown up with the same stories, grimoires in whose earliest spells required full nudity under a blue moon, wanton dances around a bonfire made of ash wood and the cured bones of a black cat.

Saying that it was merely unconventional was putting lightly. Her lips twitched. "My uncle and cousin shall be invited, yes?"

"Everyone will be invited." He could see some sort of mischief in her brown eyes and he found himself anticipatory of her next words.

"Oh, how lovely. Shall we go naked then?" She wasn't quite able to reign in her mirth and the corner of her lip curled up. The thought of her uncle and up-tight cousin, along with a fair few of the stuffy dowagers she'd been subject to the last month in such a wanton environ made her just a little bit giddy. Simple pleasures, yes, but pleasures nonetheless.

Her words were surprising enough to prompt laughter and Draco shook his head slightly as he caught up her hand again. He pressed his lips to the large emerald, careful to avoid her skin, especially now that his mind was supplying him with images of her bare. He'd not yet thought of her in such a way. There was Ginny, and Draco had studiously avoided Astoria's rooms after the first night he'd caught her on their wedding day.

"Not naked, but I do believe you grasp the spirit of the event," he said then, eyes sliding up to hers as he smiled, something between a smirk and laughter. "You will prepare for us both?"

Astoria tipped her head, dark eyes flicking from his grasp of her hand to his eyes. They were darker than she'd seen them yet and just as unreadable as ever. The smirking smile he was aiming at her did odd things to her though, and it took her long moments before she dipped her head in acknowledgment. "I shall ensure that we are both clothed in the proper attire, as little as that may be."

"Thank you." It was good. People were asking anyways. They'd done very few outings together and no galas or balls. This would be a good place to show that nothing was amiss, to prove to the Dark Lord and his colleagues that he was taking the necessary steps to ensure her trust and companionship.

It was easy to be around her, he realized. He'd known this from the night they had married, the spark and easy volley they'd had, but not until this moment did it formulate into a complete thought. He liked her. How was he to do what he was commissioned to if he cared for her, even a little bit? There had been reasons why he had stayed away.

Astoria watched his features shutter and part of her railed against it. It'd been _so long_ since she'd been able to share a smile with anyone. The other part of her was irritated; at him for leaving her, even while in the same room, and at herself for caring.

"This is an odd time for you to be here," Astoria commented then, not much liking anything she was feeling at the moment and hoping her prompt might make him leave her to her distress.

"Yes, and I am to be gone once more. I wanted to let you know about Pansy's invitation." And he'd had the strongest urge to see her reaction to it. That it pleased him, in the end, helped nothing.

"I'll see you this evening." He stood then, his black cloak swirling about his legs. The fabric was rich and luxurious, complimented his three piece suit perfectly; another of his mother's legacies. Too many memories of her this day, too many recalled when he was in Astoria's presence.

Turning on his heel then, Draco strode from the room and disappeared through the arching doorway into the darkness of the main house.

Astoria was paying attention now, and _this time_ she felt the wards shift as he Apparated away. She was Mistress of Malfoy Manor - for a little while, at least - and though some things were coming easily, others were not. Knowing when one of the men arrived was important though; she could not be caught unaware, especially if Michael was ever able to get word to her.

The thoughts of her brother, mixed with her irritation at Draco and herself, only served to make her restless and upset, and she struck out, the back of her hand connecting with the tiny teacup she'd been drinking from. The china went flying before shattering when it hit the floor and angry tears filled her eyes.

"Mm-mm-ma-Mistress?" The voices was hesitant, scared.

Astoria sighed.

"Please clean up the shards and do be careful not to cut yourself." The house elf still look terrified, confused at her kind words and about to say more, but Astoria was used to the deplorable state of the elves. Her uncle's were the same way. It made her wonder what was truly beneath the surface of the men she lived with.

Holding up a hand, she shook her head. "No arguments today, Fanny. Just be careful as you clean."

Fanny blinked at her with big, bulbous eyes and pulled at her ears, but went about her task as she cried to herself about how the Mistress was too kind.

Astoria's dark gaze shifted to the grounds outside the windows, the few flowers left straining for the weak sunlight of fall. All had been left to her and she'd been miserable at everything thus far, everything but keeping her counsel. Her father's manor had been confiscated by her uncle despite her right of inheritance, her marriage was a sham, though the exact specifics of _how_ she wasn't sure yet, and she'd really learned _nothing_ that would be of any help to _anyone_ in bringing these evil men down and making the world better again, safer.

Her dark eyes were glassy and she wiped at the tear which escaped. "What am I to do, Michael? What wisdom would you have for me?"

There was no answer though, only the ominous chime of the grand clock as it struck the hour and echoed through estate, through her very bones. Time was passing, slipping away, and there was nothing she could do about it.


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

.

Ginny was expecting him, though the longer time stretched from his visit prior to his wedding, the more she found herself on edge. She _knew_ Draco would be coming. It was just a matter of when.

While he'd been gone, she had made herself busy though. It seemed like forever that she had been courting Draco to no avail, had even gotten more comfortable in their arrangement than she should, enough to feel sick at herself, but the pearl of knowledge he'd unwittingly shared had put her eye to the society pages. She'd watched for the announcement of his marriage, had sent the ripped page off to eyes that would know what to do with such an announcement – to a man who waited for every shred of knowledge of his sister with quiet intensity. Ginny loved him for that, for caring so deeply. War and death had a way of doing that to a person; she _hated_ what they had suffered to get here, but Michael was beautifully strong for it.

Without Harry, her brothers and father gone, most of the Order killed or in Azkaban, and Hermione gone, disappeared for over a year now, he was one of the last pillars of strength any of them had to hold onto. Ginny had known he would know what to do.

There were _plans_ now. It wasn't the overthrow of Voldemort, but it was something. It was subversive and it would drive them _mad_. Perhaps they would slip up then, expose their jugular. It was a long-shot, but what wasn't anymore?

Her hips swayed to the music and the warm light pierced through the dimness to touch her freckled skin in all the right ways as the gauzy harem girl's outfit slid over her body. It was the only time she was glad her brothers and father were gone, that her mother was yet comatose in Mungos, so that they couldn't see what she had been reduced to.

Michael hadn't wanted her to do it, nor Luna or Roger and all the others, but someone had to _do something_. It had been a risk to expose herself, but her gamble had paid off.

She'd slipped into society, gotten herself a job at _Nightshade_ and a dingy little flat in Knockturn.

It hadn't taken long for Voldemort's minions to find her when she'd purposefully surfaced at one of the high class brothels in Knockturn. She didn't turn tricks for a living, but she did dance - with her bits covered, mostly - and she served drinks. She had been roughed up a bit, threatened within an inch of her life and nearly raped for her trouble, but they'd let her stay. They had let her exist in her squalor – befitting of a Weasley, they'd said; serving at the pleasure of others.

No, none of her friends had wanted her to do it, but she'd been the only one who could. Her family had prevented her from coming to the Battle of Hogwarts and after the massive loss, she'd been completely underground for nearly a year. She was a Weasley, yes, but there were no charges against her other than the fact she had disappeared. She was pure, as well, and though her family was long known as blood traitors, the status of her blood did make a difference.

It had been risky, but it was something. She was a main attraction - an example of what a once respected family had been reduced to - at the upscale lounge. She made money, most of which she sent on, and she had an ear on some of the most prominent men (and some women) in the new order. It would have been better, likely more informative to bed them and learn their secrets between the sheets, but Ginny hadn't been able to lower herself to that.

No, not when she already danced at their pleasure, to their sneers and their leers.

The base line of the music changed and her hips swung in a languid circle as she slid her hands up her body, into her hair. And that's when she saw him. Or moreso, _felt him_. Draco's gaze was heavy and had been since the first he had come to _Nightshade's_ to watch her. Perhaps that's why she'd chosen him as the lone man to break her rule with. Sleeping with one man for his secrets couldn't be as bad as sleeping with any and all for the information they might hold. At least it's what she told herself, how she was able to look at herself in the mirror.

She knew why he was there. It would not go as he liked. Part of her was sad for it - she'd gotten much more comfortable in their arrangement than she should have - but another, stronger part of her felt _free_ for the first time in longer than she could remember.

He did not move from the shadows where she knew him to be, and because she could, and because she knew it would make him irritable, Ginny danced and writhed, sinuous sexuality embodied in curves in time with the music.

If he was angry to start, this would be easier.

Draco's eyes were hard and dark. She knew he was there and he'd seen her become aware of his presence, had seen her glance in his direction just before she added the extra saucy sway to her hips as she finished her number.

He hated that she danced for others.

His gray gaze followed her as she headed for the stairs and sent a smile to one of the men sitting near the stage. _Nightshade_ was shadowed for many reasons, but anonymity if one wanted it, was certainly one of them. It was definitely in the gentleman's favor that Draco couldn't see more than his tailored pant leg and Italian leather shoes.

He had only come to _Nightshade_ the one time for Blaise's stag party. It was the first time he'd see Ginny since school and she was the only reason he'd come back. He hadn't talked to her, not for months, but somehow when he had ... whatever had driven her to hex him and spit nasty words in return for his own when they were younger, had put them in bed. Many, many times.

Draco had made a point to only visit her dingy little flat after that. He didn't like watching other men watch her. He'd had fewer opportunities to see her of late, however, and it was either track her down where she worked, or wait another several weeks until he would have time to slip away. He knew Astoria likely suspected as they had yet to consummate their vows and magical binding, but it was one thing to suspect and another to have it put in front of one's face.

He knew it would likely make it easier if Astoria hated him on some level, or had reason to, but he was reluctant to be another cause of that hurt, lost look she often got when she thought no one was watching. Not yet at least.

When Ginny finally directed herself towards him, Draco found that he was angry. There was the obvious reason - that she all but _whored_ herself out - but something else too. Perhaps the defiant look in her eyes, the stubborn tilt of her chin.

"Ginevra."

"Did you enjoy the show then?" Good. He was mad. That part of her was displeased with this made what had to be done all the more necessary.

His features hardened. "Perhaps. Though so did every other gentleman present." And a few women, though it didn't bother him half as much.

He hadn't come to fight with her. There was so little time to see her now, and Draco forced himself to push the anger away, features clearing.

"Come with me," he said then, not quite a question.

"There's a room open upstairs," Ginny said, gaze steady on his. He wouldn't like it. He had only come to _Nightshade_ in the first place because of the others, and then her, but his first choice was always to spend time away from the house of ill repute. It was part of why she had chosen him; he wasn't like the others.

"No, you already know-"

"No," she said, cutting him off. "I'm working and you chose to come here. If you'd like to see me, then you can see me on my terms."

Anger sizzled to the surface again and Draco's eyes went dark and hard. He didn't know what he wanted, didn't know why he hadn't come for her sooner, didn't know the why's of much of anything anymore, but just now he _knew_ he wanted to take it out on the stubborn, beautiful ginger woman glaring at him.

"Fine," he said, the tone brooking no further argument. "We will go upstairs and perhaps I shall pay your employer for the time spent in his room when all is said and done."

He grabbed her arm then and jerked her about, led her towards the stairwell. He knew they were watched - there had been eyes on his activities with her since the beginning - but just now, this show would suit both his mood and the purpose of keeping the spies satisfied with his unnecessary roughness.

Ginny pulled at his grasp, her own anger bubbling to the surface. He was a moody son of a shite bastard and though for a _moment_ she'd regretted the words she had to say, he was making it particularly easy to wish his temperamental self gone.

He swung her through the door even as she finally jerked from his grip, but not seconds later, the heavy wood slammed shut and she was up against it, his knee sliding between her legs as he fisted his hand in her hair and stole her breath.

She was most definitely still angry, but her body did what it had from the beginning; she raked her nails down his neck none too gently and surged up his body, hands sliding roughly into his hair as she fought for dominance in the kiss, drank him, bit at his lips.

Draco growled, knew there would be welts on his neck, but he pinned her against the door, caught one of her hands and held it up above her head pressed against the wood. This was the easy part. _So good_, and yet his thoughts tumbled over one another. No, yes, _no, no_, yes.

He cared for Ginny, but what was this? He was married. He was married to a woman he was to damn.

Astoria had taken him despite it all, magically bound herself to him. It was a thing only negatable by death or very dark magic. Even knowing the uncertain circumstances of how she came to be with him - she had as much as told him her suspicions - Astoria had cleaved to him.

But he loved Ginny. Didn't he? The uncertainties of himself, the role he was to play, of this fiery, mysterious woman who made it difficult to think and too easy to be angry, and the questions he could not answer had a storm brewing in him that would find some kind of release.

He bit her lip, sucked on it. Pain inflicted for his own doubts, and then he pulled away, gray eyes dark as he looked down her. Ginny's lips were swollen with kisses, but her expression was mutinous and defiant.

"Would you have married me?" He glared back, the storm he so rarely _could_ let out thundering in his gaze, striking the air with an electric intensity. "Would you have let yourself be my wife despite all of it? Would you have finally let me take you away from all of this?"

He had tried to give her more. She had only ever turned him down for everything but his company. It had been because she _would_ have been a whore then, a kept woman. It had become part of the reason he kept seeking her out, Ginny had realized later; he was sought for everything but himself - something she _almost_ felt sorry for as she, too, was using him.

And marriage? Marriage had never been an option. It was ludicrous in the world they lived. They both knew that.

Her jaw was set and she tugged at his grip on her wrist. "It's a moot point now, Draco. You are quite married. I read it in the papers, even."

"_Would you_?" he repeated, nearly growling it as he tightened his grip on her wrist and pressed her harder against the door. "Would you have?"

For some reason, it was immeasurably important that he know the answer to this question. Part of him dreaded it, but another part of him knew whatever answer she gave would change everything. The truth was a dangerous thing, but he could no longer afford illusions.

"_Tell me_, dammit."

"No!" she spat, glare hot and cold all at the same time. "No, I wouldn't have married you, Draco. You're everything that killed my family. Maybe it wasn't you, but you're with them. That I _like_ your hands on my body disgusts me," she said, voice low. He wanted truth? She was happy to give it. The affair was well and truly over. She had what she needed and as every word passed her lips, she felt _freer_. "When I'm with you is the only time I'm glad my family is dead or crazy. At least they can't see what I've been reduced to."

"A _whore_," he hissed, voice low and gravely as he tightened his grip around her wrist. He knew he was hurting her now, but she was glaring up at him with mutinous triumph in her whiskey eyes and he wanted her to feel some of what was roaring through him. "At the pleasure of every man who walks through these damned doors. Perhaps you've convinced yourself that your body is your own, but it, too, has been traded away."

He smirked then, let the vindictive, righteous anger shine in his eyes as he saw her features shutter slightly at his own words. "Your treasures are lovely, Ginevra. It has been a true pleasure."

He released her then, torn in so many ways as he watched hurt flash across her features when she clutched her wrist to her chest. The glare she aimed up at him not moments later was angry though, wet with unshed tears, and before Draco had a chance to react, she'd slapped him hard enough to whip his head to the side.

"If you ever say anything like that to me again, I will kill you," she promised, whiskey gaze hard and full of the truth she believed in her words.

"Words of a true farewell," he said, half bowing to her even as the sting of her strike was pinkening his pale skin.

When he straightened, he met her gaze and held it for long moments. He still could read nothing but the anger there, the righteousness of it. Ever the mystery.

Now, however, he knew one truth. "Goodbye, Ginevra."

His cloak swirled as he swept out of the room, and when he was gone Ginny sank to the floor, back against the door, and cried. Damn him. Damn him for telling the truth of it. Whore. _Damn him._


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

.

It was barely a tingle, just something that made the hair of her arms stand on end, but she knew that Draco was home. Astoria was getting better at reading the wards. It was both something one heard and felt and the longer she'd been in residence at Malfoy Manor, the more it seemed to resonate within her.

The estate was beginning to draw her in, claim her. It was a decidedly odd experience in all honesty. Such old magics as were laid in the foundations of her uncle's home and here in Malfoy Manor seemed to be sentient things, choosy of their masters and mistresses. Her father had told her that Greengrass Estate hadn't ever taken to Daphne's mother, that she'd been somewhat of a null in her own home until her early death in a miscarriage not long after her cousin had been born. Both mother and child had died, and uncle Devon had never remarried.

Astoria supposed she should be pleased that the magics several hundreds of years of Malfoys had laid into the foundations of the castle seemed to like her. It was odd to be accepted, to feel them occasionally slide over her skin, a weighted thing, but it would have been worse to feel the void. It was _always_ worse to be without the magic than overdosed.

Such were her idle thoughts as she padded through the dark manor, mug of warm milk clutched in both hands. She was having trouble falling asleep and her mother had always given her warm milk when she was a child for such an ill. She was certainly no girl anymore, but the practice made her feel close to the woman who was no longer there.

Though, as she passed through the familiar shadows of the manor, Astoria wondered where Draco was coming from at such an hour. Several outlandish things sprung to mind, things the Dark Lord had commissioned he do. He hadn't ever said what he did for Voldemort, but her mind was always ready to supply her with grisly images. Such things were rarely congruous with the man she was slowly coming to know, however.

There was always the possibility he had a mistress.

Astoria didn't particularly like to dwell on such an option and it irritated her that she hedged around it so. It was the more likely of her explanations for his whereabouts, and she was even half sure there had to be _someone_. How a man like Draco would be without some kind of companionship she wasn't sure. He surely didn't seek her and hadn't in the handful of months they had been married.

Perhaps it was because she'd been caught up in her thoughts, but when a body swept around the corner right in her pathway, a startled yelp escaped her and the warm milk she'd been clutching went flying.

Right on Draco.

"_Shite_," Draco swore, angry glare looking for who had doused him. His wand was in hand, habit putting it there quickly when faced with any kind of unexpected danger, but the 'threat' that filled his gaze when he lifted his eyes was his wife; tiny, barely clothed and blinking at him with wide eyes.

Her image so soon after seeing Ginny was hard to reconcile in his mind, and the storm of his anger faltered as he dipped his head, wiped a finger at the liquid slowly seeping into his suit and robes.

"What the bloody hell _is_ this?" It wasn't what he'd meant to say, but his face screwed up in confusion as he tried to study what she'd thrown at him in the candlelit hall.

There was a bevy of emotions littering the air around the tall man before her and it was surprising enough that Astoria only continued to blink at him for several long moments. She could so rarely read him, but just now he was projecting a lot, _loudly_; anger, first, hurt, perhaps?

It was his steady gaze that drew her own, though, and the confusion she read there had a tinkling laugh bubbling from her lips. Entirely the wrong reaction, she brought her hand up to cover her mouth as if to hide or stop herself. His further confusion and the way his face screwed up only served to make her laugh harder though, her shoulders gently shaking as she brought the other hand up then, trying the best she could to keep it inside.

He hadn't a clue what was so damn funny, but watching her dissolve into _giggles_ of all things, her tiny frame shaking with it and the sound tinting the air, though muffled, had a smile curling Draco's lips. He still didn't know what was so amusing, but it was hard _not_ to smile when Astoria was giggling, her _whole body_ filled with mirth.

"It's milk," she was finally able to get out, hands fluttering as she took a step towards him, then two. Giggles still bubbled forth as her mind kept replaying the image of his face screwed up in confused bewilderment.

"I couldn't sleep," she explained, "and so I went to the kitchens for warm milk. My mother used to give it to me when I was young to help me doze off. I didn't expect anyone to scare my knickers off, though," she said wryly, voice still full of laughter as she slowly reached for the wand he held in his hand.

Only in her slip, she didn't have her own wand, but he didn't fight her taking his. Part of her was mildly surprised, but she was too mirthful just that moment to pay anything else much heed. "Here. My brother taught me some simple cleansing charms. He thought it was best to know at least a few practical spells," she explained before she flicked his wand, murmured the charm.

His wand was larger than her own, heavier, but the spell still seemed to work and she was pleased with herself when she finally looked up at him. "There."

It was Draco's turn to burst into laughter then. He wasn't sure exactly why the low rumbling chuckle was making his shoulders shake as he looked down at her. Perhaps the ridiculousness of the situation. Perhaps that combined with the fact that his emotions were already storming close to the surface.

Whatever it was, it felt _good_. A release, not unlike anger or passion. That Astoria was blinking at him again, surprise etching her features, only made him chuckle more.

"Scared your knickers off then?" he asked, a genuine smile curling his lips as he watched her.

"I douse you in warm milk and the only thing you can remember from all of the last ten minutes is the bit about knickers?" she said evenly, a single brow rising.

There was laughter in her eyes, however, a tiny curl to her lips, and Draco found he liked playing with her. "That sums it up nicely, yes."

"Typical man," she huffed, not quite able to hide the tiny grin that curled her lips.

She pushed his wand back into his hand then and bent to pick up her empty mug, making an internal note to tell the elves to scrub the whole area thoroughly in the morning.

Despite the events of the evening, the dark storm that had been in him when he'd left Ginny at _Nightshade_, Draco found himself lighter, the weight that had been riding him, less. He was not happy about what had transpired, but part of him was relieved that at least there was some kind of finality. Truth.

He had Astoria - his _wife_ - to thank for lightening his mood, the weight on his shoulders. She'd done it unwittingly, even, and his gaze followed her as she retrieved her mug. Her silky slip was dark, the color of which he couldn't quite make out in the dimly lit hall, but it made her skin look even paler than he knew it to be. The contrast was stark, but lovely, as was her hair as it slid over her shoulders, down her back to melt seamlessly with the silk.

When Astoria stood, it was to find the laughter mostly gone from Draco's features, his eyes weighty as he watched her. It made her more aware of what she was wearing - and _not_ wearing - and a faint blush tinted her skin. She was glad for the terrible lighting though, as it would likely pass by unnoticed.

"I think my taste for it has waned this eve, but I shall endeavor to find the sweetness of dreams regardless," she said then, compelled to fill the space with words. "_With_ my knickers on," she added, lips curling wryly.

"Goodnight, Draco," she said softly as she slipped around him and continued on toward her rooms.

He turned and watched her pad lightly down the hall. Her footfalls didn't make any sound at all on the heavy Persian carpets lining the stone corridor, likely why he hadn't heard her coming in the first place. It was then he noticed she was barefoot as well, also tiny there, and his eyes lingered on the soft curve of her calf, the delicate sway of her hips.

"Goodnight," he said, more to himself than anything as she was too far away to hear him. His head tipped slightly before he pushed his current line of thought away, and proceeded in the opposite direction. He'd been on his way to his study for a drink. Perhaps to toss several of the highball glasses at the stone grate, but he found that he didn't crave it anymore.

As she padded away, Astoria wondered at what stormy emotions she'd initially found him in. She'd been able to _see_ the distress in him which, now that she had time to think on it, was slightly alarming. Worry sluiced through her briefly and she glanced over her shoulder.

Draco was striding away purposefully. Softly sighing, she faced forward again and wondered at herself and all these emotions she felt, that it was dangerous in so many ways.

Compelled, though he didn't know why, Draco looked back once more, but it was only to see her round the corner as she headed for her suite of rooms. He wasn't sure what it was he felt, but it felt something of disappointment.

Tiny frown to his brow, he faced forward again, steps finding time with the echoing, magical clock as it struck the witching hour.


	9. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

.**  
**

He had given her months warning about Pansy Nott's Halloween festivities, but even on the day of, Astoria was bustling around and trying to tie up a few loose ends. A party was a party was a party, but Draco had specifically mentioned this particular one, instructed that they were both to attend together and commissioned that she outfit them for ... well, the scandalous theme.

She'd had to get creative. The true heart of their ancestor's spells and rituals often required full nudity. It was a tantalizing thought, but unless she was truly sauced, Astoria wouldn't have shown up _anywhere_ completely naked.

She was rather pleased with the outfits she'd commissioned, however, as simple as they were in the end.

"You summoned me?" Draco said as he stepped into the solarium. Astoria - his _wife_, his mind supplied not for the first or last time - was sitting in her usual spot, but unlike the usual serene mien she projected in this particular space, he could see a vibrant, fiery edge nearly tinting the air around her. When she turned at his voice, his lips twitched.

Her eyes were bright, _excited_, if he wasn't mistaken.

He knew there was much that weighed on the little woman, how quietly dispirited she'd been upon their initial introduction, but the last months had been like watching her slowly bloom into something else entirely. He still saw that heaviness in her eyes, knew he should probe at it for Voldemort asked questions about how things were progressing, but he was loathe to dim her further when she was tentatively finding full color again.

It wasn't how he should be thinking; he _should_ be using the small evidences of her trust in him to his advantage - and to her ultimate destruction.

As long as her true affiliations were ever a mystery, however, she would be safe. He would keep her safe. Perhaps her uncle was keen on using his blood to move up the ranks, but Draco was already there, and thus far he had easily maneuvered around his associate's queries. The fact of the matter was, there was no real proof of anything; only speculation that her brother was yet leading a small sect of the resistance and that she was, in fact, in contact with him, helping him.

It could not be proved and thus far he had not seen evidence of anything. He could evade the more direct questions and still answer, quite honestly, that as far as he could tell, she was a victim of circumstance.

"Draco?" she called for the second time as she crossed the room towards him. "Don't tell me I must give a password now. I was quite relieved to be rid of the practice when I graduated Hogwarts. They got to be rather ridiculous my last year. Saucy wench and Merlin's pants were particularly memorable," she chattered at him, still trying to get some sort of reaction. His gaze was on her, but his mind was somewhere else.

"Hmm?" Draco hummed, only having caught the end of her statement. "Pants? Why would a wench be in need of pants?"

He sounded foolish, but her lips were turning up into a smile and Draco found he didn't much mind.

"I said saucy wench and Merlin's pants," she corrected, smile playing at her lips. She thought on asking him where his mind had been, but it was more than likely he wouldn't tell her anyways. She could read a few emotions in him now - amusement and mischief, in particular - but there was still much he kept from her. That he showed her _anything_ was surprise enough. Astoria hadn't expected such when she'd decided to accept his alarmingly suspicious offer of marriage. She had just wanted out of her uncle's home.

"And I was just trying to get your attention," she added as she came to him and clasped her hands lightly in front of her. "Your father is already dressed and gone and your costume for the night's events will take longer to put together. We are to be late. Fashionably so."

A single brow rose at her pronouncement. "And what, dear _wife_, is going to take so very long. I should think I'm fairly accomplished at dressing myself." He could see mischief light in her eyes, and as he'd found often in his interactions with her, he was both curious and amused.

Astoria pulled her wand free and summoned a package to her hands. The demure smile she offered him did not match the devilish gleam in her eyes, however, and Draco found himself suspicious as she pulled a pair of what some might call trousers from the packaging.

"This, _dear husband_, is your costume." The charcoal gray deerskin was soft and luxurious in her hands and her lips twitched as she watched him eye the scant amount of fabric.

"That's it?"

"Well, the artist is waiting upstairs for you." Her lips curled further.

"The artist?"

"We're dipping back in time to our roots and our ancestry, no? There was our Greek and Roman counterparts, but closer to home was the Picts. They traditionally were painted in blue woad, but yours will be a bit more subdued. The color of your trousers," she replied cheerfully as she pressed the cloth into his hands.

"I've enough to cover my bits, and some paint," he said, amused skepticism lighting his features.

It was easy to play with her and he'd rather found he liked doing it, watching the emotions pass across her face. Everyone he interacted with hid everything, and though he knew Astoria had her secrets, most everything she felt danced in her eyes, at the tiniest curls of her mouth, in the way her hands fluttered and how she shifted ever so slightly this way or that, body language absolutely telling.

"You said it was to be a rather scandalous event. I'm making sure we fit in," she said, sniffing lightly before making a shooing motion at him. "Go on then. We're already going to be late."

He moved a couple of steps back, smile beginning to curl his mouth at her. "And my father? Did you send him on half-naked as well?"

"He's a bit more Julius Caesar," she said even as she claimed the two steps he'd given up as he backed towards the door. "_Shoo_."

"He gets to be one of the best military minds in wizarding history and I'm a forest sprite?" His eyes lit at her expression and he went one further. "What about you then? Perhaps a wood nymph in nay but this paint you so love?"

He laughed at the sour expression she gave him. "I'm going," he said, teeth flashing in a grin.

"You're a _warrior_," she corrected him, huffing her ire as she set her hands to her hips and glared at him. "And you'll just have to wait and see what I am. Now _go_, else I shall be forced to some dire measure."

His grin went slightly crooked at the picture she made; angry kitten. There was the threat of claws, but they would never cut deep. The laughter he often had around her, the smiles she elicited from him, felt odd much of the time, but it was another thing he'd found he rather liked when he was in her presence. He was wary to call such a thing happiness, and his mind shied away at the merest suggestion of such.

"Mayhap I'd like to see your prowess with a wand." He grinned again at her unamused expression before taking several more steps towards the stairs. "Going, going."

He really did go that time, and Astoria's lips twitched as she watched him bound up the sweeping stairwell. His designer trousers and button up should have made the energetic movement conspicuous or out of place, but just that moment, it suited. They were both well beyond Hogwarts and there was much in this new life to be weighted down by, but when he smiled and played with her like that, it was easy to forget, at least for a few moments, that so much was so terribly wrong. It was like they were young and had a _chance_ for real laughter and enjoyment in trivialities.

It was like the moments they should have had.

They were very dangerous moments. It was dangerous to like his company, dangerous to feel at ease with him, _safe_ with him here at Malfoy Manor. It was dangerous to be too comfortable or too complacent.

It was so very hard to fight something that felt so ... _right_. But Draco couldn't be right or good for her, not truly. She had to keep reminding herself of that. It would make it easier when the house of cards eventually crumbled.

Such thoughts would have to wait for further contemplation, however. For now, there was the All Hallow's Eve gala and she, too, had to get ready.

Despite his reservations, the 'costume' Astoria had chosen for him suited. If it could be called a costume - it didn't cover much at all, though she was right that the Pictish looking charcoal patterns on his arms and chest, his back, were a costume all themselves. It should have looked odd with the fitted deerskin trousers that only reached just past his knees, but it didn't. The two eras of decoration flattered one another.

She had an eye for beauty and aesthetics. Not entirely practical, he thought as he headed down the stairs barefoot, but tasteful and pleasing, and fitting for the night's event.

He'd been informed she was waiting for him, but a quick glance around the entry hall didn't reveal her slight form and he headed for the solarium.

It was dim in the glass room for it was already completely night, but the moon shown full and combined with the few candles floating about the room, there was definitely enough light in which to see by.

His gaze was drawn to the movement on the far end of the suite near the aisles of roses his mother had once kept up herself. "Are you ready?" he called as he moved further into the room, intent on seeing the costume she'd kept secret.

"Mmm, just about," Astoria said absently as she worked the blooming red rose into her tumbling curls. Her lips were scarlet, but everything else was the same dark charcoal as Draco's costume. She'd made sure they matched, but her look had needed one more touch and a perfectly red rose in the darkness of her hair had seemed a good idea.

It was rather difficult to do without a mirror, though, and when it felt secure in the pins already there, Astoria turned about and found Draco not more than a few paces away. "Does it look alright?"

He'd been rather preoccupied by the pale expanse of her back framed in charcoal silk, her hair brushing the curve at the base of her spine when she moved just so, but when she turned about, there was so much more to appreciate about her choice in attire. Movement exposed a slit in the draped silk that nearly touched her hip and when she fully faced him, it became clear that it not only dipped scandalously low in the back, but in the front as well.

It was all draped; the neckline was a silky bunch near her navel which traveled up in a halter around her neck. What came around the back to make a draping silk dress, if it could truly be called that, rested at the curve of her arse, the hem draping just below her knees. Her pale skin was luminescent against all the darkness and looked even softer than the silk sliding over it.

"Draco? Rose? No rose?" Astoria prompted again. She was astutely keeping her gaze from lingering too long on the woad patterns painted across his chest. Or the lean muscles beneath. It had seemed like a good idea at the time she'd commissioned all their clothes for this eve's celebrations, but just now she was not entirely sure.

"Keep it," he said, finally answering her as he came to stand in her space. "It suits." Draco reached up and shifted a lock of hair from obscuring the blood red petals, perhaps letting the silk of her hair slide over his finger longer than necessary.

Astoria was more aware than she would have liked of him reaching out to her, but all too soon his hand was gone and she breathed again. "The woad suits as well," she offered then. "Do you like it?"

"I do," Draco replied, features softening ever so slightly at her question and the hesitant look in her eyes as if she truly _did_ care if he was pleased. She had no reason to be, most especially for such trivial matters. "In the end I think it will be my indecorous lack of shoes that makes the old bitties titter," he added, lips twitching.

"You barbarous heathen." Her lips curled slightly in response, eyes lighting to reflect the mischievous humor in his mercury gaze.

"At least I might say my beautiful, decorous wife enabled me." He could feel more than see her blush, for it was dim in the room and the heat in the air around her spiked slightly, but before she could truly demure or babble away the honestly given compliment, Draco held out his arm. "Shall we? I'm sure we're likely well beyond fashionably late."

"A Malfoy is never anything but fashionable. We shall set the trend," she replied, voice wry despite the slight flutter unsettling her inside.

Her hand was only curled very lightly in the crook of his arm, but Astoria was more aware of the small touch than she likely ought to be as he led her toward the entry hall and Apparation point there. Draco Malfoy was her husband, yes, but in this world with the way their arranged marriage had come about, there was nothing there to trust.

There was no time to examine her conflicting feelings, however, because her thoughts were abruptly cut off when they disappeared with a soft 'pop'.


	10. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

.**  
**

It was more of a _revel_, really, than any kind of gala that Astoria had ever been to. There were several people who were fully attired as was truly proper, but most everyone else present had taken the opportunity to indulge in the titillating theme and spirit of Samhain. There were very few people fully dressed and the costumes ranged from barely anything at all, like Draco who only had knee-length deerskin trou, to a rather brazen Gwenyth Rosier, who had only just entered society, dressed in what Astoria guessed to be a wood nymph with nothing more than a rather glittery loin cloth and strategically placed leafy attire across her chest.

It was all the gossip, she had come to learn once she and Draco had parted to socialize. Or, perhaps, it was that _everyone_ was gossiping about everyone else. It wasn't everyday that their stuffy society literally shed their clothes, indulged in their cups and congregated out of doors, a good portion of them barefoot.

And they were _certainly_ indulging in the refreshments. Dusky cheeked men and women had greeted them as they'd moved from their arrival in the entry hall through the crowds of people. Much of the revelry had spilled onto the grounds towards the _enormous_ bonfires, however, and as Honoria Jones and Ophelia Cartwright continued to chatter animatedly about how scandalous Gwenyth Rosier was, dancing around the bonfires with the _entertainment_, Astoria found _herself_ drinking liberally from her own glass.

She likely shouldn't be. She would need her wits if she saw her uncle or cousin, or any number of people he was in collusion with, but the spirit of the evening seem to call for indulgence with absolute hedonism as they celebrated the end to the light half of the year and their descent into the dark of winter.

Truth be told, it was rather symbolic on many levels. Not that her life had been full of any semblance of light for longer than she could truly recall, but darkness was, indeed, on the horizon. She could feel it. Astoria knew something was amiss, had known since the evening she'd been summoned and informed of her 'choice' to marry Draco. Her father had been rather progressive; he had always encouraged her to love where she would, had never had any intentions to arrange a marriage for her. She knew that was partly due to the fact that he was the younger brother and it was not their line that would carry on the family name, but her Papa had gone against the grain in many ways, that being a small one.

Her uncle had always clung to the old ways and Astoria had only been relieved for the match he'd found her. She'd half expected to find herself dead like her parents or shackled to the most cruel man he could find. It was true she hadn't known what Draco would be like as they had only had little interaction before she agreed to marry him, and her recollections of him from school were spotty at best, but he'd never instilled fear in her the way her uncle did, the way many of his associates did.

It was the best she could have hoped for given her circumstances. He was kind to her and actually listened when she spoke. His father was agreeable enough, but he rarely sought her out when he was in the manor, regardless. There was _something_ going on, but she couldn't figure the details, and she was only too happy to be in a place that felt relatively safe. At least he didn't take his frustrations out with the back of his hand. It was something.

It was more than something, though what and how safe it was to think of such things, she still internally debated over.

She glanced about then, dark gaze searching for the object of her thoughts.

"You look radiantly lovely this eve, Ms. Malfoy," came a rumbling voice, followed by a light touch to her shoulder.

The titter of female conversation faded somewhat as all the women cast subtle, and not so subtle, glances at the handsome, broad-chested man that had come up to their group.

As she turned about, the foreign touch did not leave, only slid down her arm until a large hand captured hers when she faced the man who'd spoken to her. Her dark eyes hit his chest first, his very muscled and _naked_ chest, but shifted up as he bent to press a kiss to her knuckles.

She didn't like him touching her, but it would be indecorous to snatch her hand back, especially as she recognized his ruggedly elegant features. She was sure this man had been at the manor before, though if he'd accompanied Lucius or Draco she couldn't recall. They hadn't formally introduced her and she'd kept to her quiet observation.

"I'm sorry, but I don't think we've been introduced. I find myself at a loss as to whom I am to thank for such a lovely compliment," she said then, not unaware that the women had shifted slightly away from her only to begin tittering again - this time probably about herself being married and approached by a strange - her gaze darted briefly to his left hand - _single_ man.

"Pardon my rudeness," he said, all charming grace and charisma. Likely a little far into his cups as well, if the glitter in his eyes was anything to go by. "Lucian Montague." His lips curled into an easy smile and his thumb brushed lightly over her knuckles, his large hand dwarfing hers. "And I was wondering if I might have a dance?"

"Montague is getting handsy with your wife, Draco," Pansy drawled from her perch on her husband's lap. Her voice was amused. Pansy was always amused, ever at Draco's expense, but that was half their friendship; Draco was honest with her about how much of a vindictive bitch she was, and Pansy never spared him her opinions on his life. Or much of anything else.

Draco had always thought Theodore Nott an especially patient and good man for not only marrying one of his oldest friends, but _choosing_ to, even. As many matches had been arranged for a good deal of them, this one had, oddly and surprisingly enough, been a love match.

His thoughts were far from Pansy's general likeness to a harpy, however, as his gaze flicked over to where he'd been watching Astoria visit with some of the society ladies. It had seemed prudent to keep an eye on her given this was their first major event as Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy; gossip ran rampant, and thought he knew her to be feistier, stronger than he'd first suspected, she was yet a delicate bloom. He had only taken his eyes off her in the first place because Blaise had pulled his attention for the totality of a half minute.

It figured Lucian Montague would take advantage of those thirty seconds.

"I would say he's just being exceedingly friendly, darling, but then that would be a lie," Pansy added, dark eyes lit merrily as she watched her friend. She had chosen not to embroil herself in the politics Theo, Blaise and Draco dallied in, but she _did_ know that the marriage Draco had been roped into had more to do with affairs of state than any design on a good match or love. It was rather obvious by the way his eyes followed her, however, that whatever it had started as, it was a something else all together now. Even more telling was how the chords of muscle tightened in his neck and through his shoulders as he watched Montague charm his wife.

Draco wasn't entirely unfamiliar with the dark fire that licked through him as he watched Montague trace his fingers down Astoria's arm, as he kissed her hand and then didn't relinquish his hold. He was a Black; a mad darkness was at the root of them all. It was how he had inadvertently earned favor again during the war, his slip into that dark part of himself, and it was the same bitter aftertaste that had coated his mouth, once, when he'd thought on Ginny working at _Nightshade_.

This was somewhat different. He hadn't ever had a claim on Ginny and she never did as he'd asked anyways.

Astoria was his _wife_. She was _his_, and his alone, and the part of him claimed by the House of Black unfurled from its dark coil in the depths of what made him heir of the blood. His. Theirs. No one else's.

Lucian Montague might know the match was partly pretense, but there were few who knew all the details and he was not one of those so privileged. Regardless of the man's knowledge, what he was doing in front of the whole of society was a matter of honor and respect. For all intents and purposes she was his wife and Montague was making a mockery of him by touching her like he had some kind of right to. No one touched something that belonged to a Malfoy. _No one_ touched what belonged to a _Black_ that darkness in him insisted.

Regardless of family, honor, power and the right to possession, Draco just didn't _like_ him touching her.

His eyes narrowed as Montague moved to lead Astoria towards the dance floor set in the middle of the bonfires, watched as the other man's hand disappeared behind her. He _knew_ what was at her back – _nothing_ – and the thought of Montague's hand on the bare skin there had that darkness furling its way through him. The Black madness had no instinct but that of a predator and the shadow of it slid into the depths of his mercury gaze. Any who might happen to glance at Draco in that moment would know exactly why he was in Lord Voldemort's inner circle, why he was a man to be feared; the hardness to his gaze was the same seen in his Aunt Bella, eyes that cared not that men died for their pleasure.

His hand was already moving for his wand and his muscles tensed as he made to stand, but Draco paused when he watched Astoria deftly slip from Montague's shadow and presumptuous touches. He watched her lips move, words spoken, before wide dark eyes cast about the crowds.

Those wide dark eyes found his. Even through all the people, lounged as he was near the largest bonfire, she found him. Draco couldn't be sure, but it seemed as if she was relieved to know where he was and that satisfied the dark part of him still on the surface. Not moments after their eyes met, she glanced back up at Montague, lips moving again before she turned and slipped through the writhing crowds of people toward him.

It was then that Montague saw him and the burly man's brows raised, teeth flashing in a grin that was none too friendly before he shifted his gaze slightly. He was watching her, making _sure_ Draco knew he was watching her - watching the silk slide enticingly where it hung from the curve at the base of her spine, watching the gentle sway of her hips. Draco knew what she looked like when she was walking away. It was worth a glance, but he _did not_ like Montague's eyes on her. Or anything else of his on her, for that matter.

"Draco." Her voice was soft, but there was an edge of apprehension to it that pulled him from the promise of pain he'd been glaring at Montague. "He's still watching me, and -"

Before she could finish voicing her distress for what had transpired – that Lucian Montague had touched her, had brushed his fingers over her skin in a way that made her chilled in the most unpleasant of ways and had unwittingly exposed the darkness glittering in his eyes which enjoyed the unwelcome pain of others when she'd started at his presumptuousness – Draco had tugged her fully into his lap and she found herself too surprised to finish her thought.

"Yes, he's still watching," Draco finished for her, hard mercury gaze on Montague's again as he slid his hand up her back, beneath the curtain of her dark hair. "He just needs to be reminded of his place," he added, voice low, eyes glittering at the arrogant fool as he tugged on her hair to expose her throat and pressed his lips there, skimmed them over the pulse point.

If she'd had her wits about her, Astoria would have asked how this was reminding Montague of his place, but it was a little hard to string her thoughts together in any kind of rational way with Draco's hands on her, his lips. Her pulse rabbited and heat sluiced beneath her skin like a live thing until her lids drooped, dark lashes brushing her cheek as they fluttered shut.

Astoria knew people were watching, but her foggy mind was fairly sure that's what Draco intentioned with the display. Others had been exhibiting similar behavior, and more, the closer they got to the witching hour and the hotter the bonfires burned, but such thoughts were very far from her mind. Regardless of all the reasons why she should endeavor to keep her wits about her, Astoria was helpless against her reaction, the flutter of her hand to his chest, the slight intake of breath, the heat called to her skin.

He had the satisfaction of watching Montague scowl, but it was quickly a secondary thought as Astoria shifted in his lap, as her pulse jumped beneath his lips, as the slight pant of her breath sounded softly near his ear.

She smelled so _good_, something soft and delicate, jasmine and rainwater. It was such a faint scent that it clung to her, soft and enticing. As he skimmed his lips over her neck Montague was quite forgotten, and he nuzzled just beneath her ear where the scent was stronger yet. It filled him, teased at the unfurling darkness inside of him and mixed into something primal and heady.

_Mine_, his mind supplied, and he felt that part of him that was blood and magic reach for her. He closed his eyes and set his teeth to her pulse, bit lightly, and when her breath caught, little hands curled on his chest to imprint her nails, Draco felt it surge; magic, hot and heady, already alive in the night as thin as the veil was this eve. But it was more, and as he watched the phantoms of it dance behind close lids, he realized it was the magic that bound them, the ancient rites they'd been bid to speak that could only be broken by death.

He hadn't ever understood, not fully, but in that moment everything was crystalline. There was a part of his bloodline that only understood the right of possession, power and blood above all else, but the magic the Dark Lord was using to invoke bonds and loyalty went deeper than even death; for descendants of the House of Black, this was the stopper of madness bound in a single person – mate.

The power she held over him had his eyes flying open – so many things were falling into place; his mother and father, aunt Bellatrix - but it was in that moment that she whispered his name, soft, hesitant and _warm_, and his arms tightened around her, thoughts lost to the ether for now.

His hand shifted from beneath her hair to cup her jaw, he tipped her head and stole her breath, lips slanting over hers. No tentative touches, no exploration. Everything in him sang to claim the warmth, to drink.

_Yes_. Astoria knew this had to be wrong, but the beat of her heart said '_yes, more, nownownow_'. She was no ingénue, had kissed and been with other men prior to her bondage in her uncle's home, but this was different. It felt _right_.

There was a part of her mind that started at that thought – this _couldn't_ be anything but very, very wrong – but the low growl that rumbled from Draco sparked something inside her and before she could think about anything else, Astoria did what she'd promised herself she never would. She enjoyed him. She shifted in his lap, slid her hands up his chest, fingers raking through his hair and she met him. Astoria opened herself; she tasted, drank from him, her own lips sliding over his.

The burning heat inside of her unfurled and something bright seemed to break free before sizzling through her veins. Magic - burning, untamed magic she realized as a phantom image flashed behind her lids of the white light sluicing through her, glowing chords filling her and spilling from her, meeting silver … meeting _Draco_, a nearly literal binding of magic, knots twining.

It was only a kiss. With ancient magics, nothing was 'only' anything.

The shock of what was happening – what had _happened_ - was almost enough to pull Astoria out of the kiss, but it was in that moment that Draco's hand slid over her thigh, up the pale skin exposed at the gaping slit of her dress. A tiny sound escaped her mouth and her grip tightened in his hair. It'd been so long since she had be able to be herself, so long she had been hiding behind an agreeable, subservient mask, but for the first time in longer than she could remember, Astoria felt those things that made her, _fire and passion_, fill her. All of this was wrong; it had been set up. The damage was done, however, and the lure of freeing her own nature was too strong.

Astoria nipped at his lip and pulled at him until their bodies were as close as they could be. It was indecorous, would draw eyes, attention and gossip, but she _didn't care_ and that felt good. _Draco_ felt good.

His hand tightened on her, fingers pressing into her thigh. He would leave marks. She was so delicate, tiny. But her skin was warm, _hot_, and as her teeth dragged at his lips, nails bit into his skin, as she curled into him, Draco wondered how he had missed this. She was fire and heat. Much like Ginny, but where the ginger's fire sought to consume, a pirate of souls, Astoria was the hearth, the simmering, smoldering coals to warm or ignite, a heat that nurtured the flame.

It was an addictive, subtle seduction, not to tempt for a handful of moments in time, but to inspire a hunger that needed satiation over and over and over. She was dangerous. Draco had never thought Astoria as a danger to him, but magic and blood bound them, and somehow, he had learned to crave her. Just _her_. The uninhibited way she responded to him, he to her, only served to drive home how far gone everything already was.

The tiny sound that slipped from her, breathless frustration and want, nearly undid him. Everything in him, everything that made him what he was, heard and responded to that one little siren call, but for the first time in several minutes, Draco was able to reign himself - _because_ the call was so viscerally strong. He wanted her. He wanted to spill her to his bed, wanted to taste every inch of her, wanted to see how she would arch beneath his touch, how she would cry out for him, wanted to hear how his name would sound on her lips. He knew she would lose herself to him, could _feel_ it in that burning magic, but also in the heat passed back and forth between their bodies, their mouths.

It was why Draco pulled away. They were sitting on the Nott's grounds, exposed for all the drunken gazes to see, and he would _not_ share that with these people. It was not unheard of, especially on nights such as this – the old ways and magic's thick in the air as the veil between worlds thinned, as darkness laid claim to the land and drove them towards winter – but Sahmain would not claim them as tribute.

She was panting, breath warm gusts against his neck as she hid her face there, and Draco found Montague once more. The brawny man's gaze was steady, but there was no taunt to his features now. His dark eyes were thoughtful and intent, and even from the distance Draco could see something slide through the shadows in his gaze. He had approached her at all to goad Draco, but now he _wanted_ her.

"You should have a care with such things," Pansy said conversationally, though Draco could hear the layers of meaning.

"Did you see … something?" he asked, mercury gaze shifting from Montague to scan about the area. He caught many other sets of eyes turned their way, that same thoughtful want a curious thing in ruddy, drunken features of a few.

"I _felt_ it, darling. Ill-timed," she replied before taking a long sip from her wine and tossing a smile at someone across the way. Her voice was merry though threaded with seriousness as she continued. "It believe it is a rare thing to feel it so strongly, but we approach midnight and fate is listening."

Astoria's thoughts were yet scattered, her skin afire, but her breathing was beginning to even, but the words being passed back and forth held all her attention. Whatever she had seen pass behind her lids had been felt beyond herself and Draco. What that meant, she was unsure.

"It is done then," Draco said, eyes sliding back to Montague. His mercury gaze was hard, promised death for the trespasses in the shadows of the burly man's dark eyes. Everything in him was at odds; there was the mission, loyalty to the Dark Lord, survival, but there was magic older than it all, and blood, and now there was Astoria, irrevocably _his_. No other man's.

"Yes, darling," Pansy said, finally shifting dark eyes to him. Her gaze flicked to the woman curled into him, to the shine of equally dark eyes peering at her through a curtain of hair. "He is knowledgeable, but not wise."

Astoria lifted her head and pushed her hair from her face. _He?_ She was missing something. She knew that the magic of their binding had been ignited, but there was something else going on. Alarm sluiced through her.

Draco pulled his gaze from Montague and looked at the woman in his lap. Lifting a hand, he cupped her cheek and brought wide, dark eyes to his. He could see the heat now, could feel it tint the air just from such a simple touch. There was fear and confusion in Astoria's eyes, however. He understood. He understood _all_ too well now. There was a reason the ancient binding rites hadn't been used in centuries but for the rare occasion.

It was the binding of hearts, souls, minds, blood. It was powerful and irrevocable.

It overrode all other pledges. Even ones branded into the skin.

Draco shifted his gaze to Pansy and Theo. It was the same for them, he realized, but the ignition of their magic, their binding, had not been public. It had not drawn attention or scrutiny. Its magic had not stirred anyone but themselves. It was secret.

And it could stay that way for them. Both Theodore and Pansy were safe. They were trusted.

Astoria was not. She was meant for death. And he was meant to bring it upon her.

The Dark Lord knew ancient, powerful magic, but he had never experienced that which he'd invoked. He would never bind himself to another.

Mercury eyes found Astoria's again and he brushed his thumb across her cheek. "It is wisdom's brother he visits," he murmured. "Folly."


	11. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

She needed air. She needed to get away from all these _people_. Something had happened – something that shouldn't have happened in front of people who would only think how to use it - _her_ - to their benefit. Astoria could feel their eyes on her, but every time she turned her head, gazes shifted away and she could never quite pinpoint who it was that watched.

Draco's eyes she could feel like a weighted thing, however. She had claimed the need for air, something to drink, and had insisted he stay where he was, that she wouldn't take long at all. He had seemed reluctant to let her go and the more alarming thing was that _she_ had felt more and more bereft the father she moved from him.

What the bloody hell had _happened_? She knew the magic of their binding had been ignited in some way, but it was more than that – wasn't it? She hadn't ever heard of a literal binding of their magics, the essence of who they were, nor had she been told of this visceral bond she felt to him now as if he were part of her, that if he tugged, she would stumble.

"Cousin. You look … well."

The condescending bored drawl had real anger buzzing beneath Astoria's skin. The hand that grasped her arm did not help matters and she turned blazing dark eyes up to Daphne. "What do you want?"

Daphne raised a brow, but for all that she was seemingly composed as ever, Astoria saw surprise in her ice blue eyes.

"That's no way to speak to family. I only sought to say hello, dear cousin."

"Perhaps you ought to let go of my arm then. It is quite painful," Astoria replied. She knew she should be hiding her pique, but after what had just happened with Draco, what control she had was paper thin. "It is not customary for family to leave marks, though neither you nor your father were ever much concerned about such trivialities."

Daphne's eyes widened slightly and triumph sluiced through Astoria.

When they were young, she'd _tried_ to win her cousin's affection. She had given up after a time, content with the love she had in her own family. Daphne had never been kind to her anyway; she seemed to have taken after her father who had always held a certain amount of animosity to his charismatic, well-loved younger brother. Since her parent's death when Devon had 'taken her on', Astoria had seen the truth of her extended family. They were cold, calculating and judgmental. Devon had been her personal dictator and Daphne had rubbed in that Astoria was truly powerless, that her father had been weak, that her step-mother had been a whore for begetting a half-blood and Michael, her brother, was nothing more than a half-breed mongrel who had never deserved to stand with their family or be associated with the name of Greengrass.

Thing was, Astoria wasn't a Greengrass anymore. She was a Malfoy and neither Devon nor Daphne Greengrass could do anything to her. For all the worry and stress of what had happened with Draco not minutes prior, a beautifully dark smile curled Astoria's lips and she took a step into Daphne's personal space.

"Perhaps, once upon a time, you had sway over my life. You could insult my father, my mother – Michael. You watched as uncle used the back of his hand to discipline me," she said, voice low, eyes weighted and dark as she looked up at the blond woman. "Not anymore. Uncle saw fit to marry _me_ into the house of Malfoy. I no longer share your roof and I will no longer tolerate your insolence."

Astoria had the satisfaction of watching anger build up in her cousin, felt Daphne's grip tighten painfully on her arm. Perhaps Astoria's marriage to Draco had been set up for her ultimate demise, but it didn't change the fact that she was Mistress of one of the most respected and powerful names in their world _right now_. They could try to hurt her – likely would someday - but she knew how to make the sword carry a double edge. She may have the 'disadvantages' of kindness and love, but she had not been sorted to Slytherin for no reason.

"You will unhand me now, _cousin_. I have grown tired of your company and wish to seek those who are of more pleasant and polite conversation," she said, authority and strength there she hadn't even known she had.

Anger burned hot in Daphne's blue eyes, but she let go of Astoria's arm. "You will pay for this slight."

"Or perhaps it is you who will pay for every hateful thing you ever said to me." Astoria raised a brow and met her cousin's gaze, unafraid and reveling in this new freedom to speak as equal instead of holding her tongue in fear of what might befall her at Devon's hand. "No matter what happens, cousin-mine, it is not you who will have the last word."

Astoria turned and walked away then. People were watching and she could not indulge in showing her own shock at what she had just done, the exhilaration of finally being able to talk for herself without fear of reprisal. It was a heady thing.

Heady enough that when someone grasped her hand and pulled her into a twirling dance, Astoria was momentarily disoriented as the blur of people and the bright light of the large bonfire sped past her vision. Before she could even take a breath to demand her abductor unhand her, however, a familiar voice interjected.

"Quit pulling at me and dance," the female voice hissed.

After another twirl, her other hand was grasped and it was then Astoria saw the woman. "_Ginny_?"

"Shut-up, Astoria. Do you _want_ to get caught?" Despite her words, the tone was light and merry.

Astoria did dance then, truly joined the revel that was building around the bonfires as they approached midnight. It was a wonder she hadn't recognized Ginny at first. Her hair had been darkened to a deep auburn to help her blend and she was dressed _obscenely_ - in the fashion of the entertainment that had been commissioned.

Astoria realized then how her brother's friend had gotten in to the party, but why she was there and what she was up to remained a mystery. Astoria wanted to drag her to the shadows and demand why she was there, if she knew anything of Michael's well-being and then shake her within an inch of her life for risking herself as she was, but to leave the growing mass of revelers just that moment would be even more conspicuous. Out in the open was either the most terrible or most clever of disguises.

The spinning was making her dizzy, but Astoria pulled Ginny closer to her as they spun. "_What are you doing here_" she whispered.

"Saving you. Stealing you. Whatever you want to call it," Ginny said, whiskey gaze darting past Astoria. Draco hadn't noticed yet, thank Merlin. It'd been difficult to time everything especially as he'd been watching the younger woman like a hawk for most of the night. If anger burned at that, at the rather passionate kiss she'd seen him share with Michael's sister, then it was ignored. It didn't matter and never had; she'd gotten what she needed from him. "Michael's waiting on the edge of the wards. We just have to make it 'til midnight. There will be a fireworks display and that is when we will go."

Michael was there. He was alive and he had come for her. Astoria nearly stumbled as the shock of all of it really hit her. _Her brother was alive_. She would see him this night and they would all disappear together.

And then she caught sight of blond at the corner of her eye and her gaze slid to Draco. He was sprawled in the plush chair where she'd left him, draped over it and having a rather serious looking conversation with Pansy and Theodore. _Draco_. The very thought of leaving him _did_ make her stumble.

"Dammit, Astoria. We're trying _not_ to draw attention to ourselves," Ginny hissed before spinning them back into the crowd of half-naked, mostly-drunk revelers.

"I'm sorry," she said breathlessly though her thoughts dizzied her further. There was Michael and how she could finally see him, hug him and see for herself that he was well and whole, but there was Draco whom she was _irrevocably bound to_. She understood now what Draco and Pansy had been talking of. The Dark Lord had spelled them with ancient magic that hadn't been used in centuries but for the rare occasion – and there was a _reason_ for that. It was strong, _truly_ binding. They would feel each other always, and without the other, they would never be truly whole – and together they would be _more_ than either alone. Even now just _thinking_ of leaving him behind, she could feel the phantom hole, the absence of him within her.

It was then fireworks lit the heavens. Even as the revelers lifted their eyes to the sky and cheered, cups raised and sloshing, Ginny tugged Astoria through the crowd. No one was paying them any attention, not when the sky exploded in flying dragons and racing unicorns.

Astoria didn't have time to think about what she should do, what she wanted. It was swallowed by the pounding beat of her heart as they sprang free from the crowds gathered around the bonfires. There was only a dark expanse of ground before them and then the grove of trees a darker shadow against the night sky. Michael was there, waiting for her, and when Ginny began to race into the darkness for the tree line, Astoria held tightly to her hand and ran with her.

Something tugged at her, something inside, and she slowed to turn around.

"What are you doing! We have to go. _Now_." Ginny couldn't help but turn to see what had caught Astoria's attention, however. When she met a darkly angry set of mercury eyes, her heart stopped. "Astoria, now," she said again, turning away from that heavy gaze and tugging.

Astoria couldn't take her eyes off Draco though - _literally couldn't_. "Ginny, I …"

"No. You're coming," Ginny said, and began to run again.

The jostle disrupted her vision, enough to break whatever spell she'd been under, and when she glanced over her shoulder again, Draco was gone. The anger on his face burned in the back of her mind though, and she held tighter still onto Ginny's hand and _ran_.

That look had been a promise. He _would_ find her. The exhilarated fear at the thought only propelled her and not moments later the true darkness of the forest claimed them.


	12. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Draco knew the moment she Apparated away. He couldn't have said how, couldn't have explained the nearly physical pull inside of him, but he knew.

His lips thinned, anger burning in his mercury gaze. He had no reason to be angry. This should have been expected - _all_ of it. Ginny's duplicity he had predicted from the beginning for all that he'd indulged in ignorance of her motives. He had wanted it to be something more than another product of the shite existence Voldemort had created for everyone. He had wanted that abandon he found with her, the fire she used to consume thoughts and worries and reality. For all that, Draco had always been suspicious of her.

Astoria though … he had never thought to examine her for betrayal. She hadn't sought him, had been truly reluctant to wed him. He knew she had only chosen him in hopes that he was a better circumstance than the one she had previously known. He had _felt_ for her, for her loss and the way she had been betrayed by her own blood – more than she even knew. He had stayed his hand for her, had deliberately chosen _not_ to overly examine her as he had been bid to by the Dark Lord.

He had learned to trust Astoria and she had played him a fool. She truly _had_ been in contact with the freedom fighters as suspected, and not just her half-blood brother the regime wanted so much, but _Ginny damn Weasley_. Everything had been a lie. Every smile, every tinkle of laughter – the way she had kissed him as if she was helpless to stop, the way his name had whispered past her lips. Draco's jaw clenched as he strode toward the manor, his hard gaze and burning anger parting people before him.

Astoria was a lie. Her delicacy of person roused protection and her wary, dark eyes made a person want to earn her trust. Her laughter and smiles were inviting and contagious, and her temper only recalled the passion that was in her, made a person want to know her buttons and tells. She was the most beautiful of lies, tempting and lovely, and he had fallen for it, all of it.

"Nephew, you taste good," Bellatrix purred, dusky blue eyes heavy-lidded and intent on him as he ascended the stairs to where Voldemort sat watching over the night's festivities.

Draco's gaze darted to her and his eyes were hard. "Are you succubus now to drink the air of emotion?"

"Not all," she drawled. "But Black anger is heady, is it not? One could get lost in it." The slow smile that curled her lips helped his aunt fell her prey, the pouting red curve dangerous seduction, but Draco dismissed her and her madness to turn his gaze to the Voldemort.

"My lord," he said, head bowing as he dropped to his knee. "Your wisdom and foresight is unparalleled. The woman I was bid to wed has betrayed herself." He kept his gaze on the hard stones. Despite the anger wanting to burst from him, the vengeance he would have for being made fool of, he knew that he had to thread this most dangerous of needles. "She is with the freedom fighters, and Ginevra Weasley has been flushed to the surface as well. They have been in collusion."

Draco could feel the weight of Voldemort's gaze, heard him sit forward in his chair, and fought not to shudder. He was a revolting, terrifying thing. "And where are these women, young Malfoy?"

"I learned the truth of their alliance tonight, my lord, as I spied them escaping together, undoubtedly to meet the half-blood."

"You are sure of nothing then," Voldemort said, voice hard and unforgiving. "You have failed twice over in detecting their true motives."

"I will find them," Draco nearly hissed as he raised his head to meet the Dark Lord's unnerving red eyes. "I can track my wife. I _will not fail_," he said, eyes blazing. "She will lead us to them as you planned."

Voldemort's fingers steepled and he tipped his head in a way that was more animal than human. "I can see in your eyes that you believe what you say," he mused thoughtfully. "You feel her, do you not?"

He sounded truly curious and Draco nearly frowned at the odd question. "My lord?"

"The binding. It is strong. We all felt it this night, young Malfoy." He tipped his head the other way and Draco was reminded of a predator curious at the antics of its prey. "You feel her through your binding."

"I …" Draco paused, caution piercing through his anger. "… I feel that she is mine, my lord. Mine to keep." His eyes darkened. "To punish."

"Very good, young Malfoy. Very good," Voldemort nearly purred. "Yes, I do think you will find her." He set his hands to the arms of the chair then and his voice changed once more, commanding. "Your mission is to locate her and identify those she travels with. You will immediately report your findings and we shall punish them, shall we not?"

"Yes, my lord," Draco said, eyes glittering steel. "They will pay for their sins."

In that moment the Dark Mark appeared in the sky and Draco's gaze was drawn to the green stain, lit moments later in a truly dazzling finale of fireworks to the cheers of the crowds below.

He would hunt the woman that had once been his lover, and he would hunt his wife. Hope for something better, pure and untainted by Voldemort and what he had done to their world was nothing more than trust in illusions and empty promises. If the disappointment of his mother weighed on his shoulders, it was ignored as he stood and moved to stand next to his aunt at Voldemort's right side.

He was a damned man, but he was not going to hell alone. Ginny would pay. _Astoria_ would pay.

_Fin_

.

.

.

**Notes & Acknowledgments**

First and foremost, I'd like to extend another ginormous thank you to all the awesome women who helped me make this story publishable. To Liz, my grammar nazi, thank you for reading everything I've ever written. To Sam who always gives me honest critique whether it be glowing or not, and whose suggestion for plot continuity resulted in a scenelet being added into the Prologue. To Vicky who read and assured me it wasn't nearly as bad as I thought it was, and that Draco actually was in character. And last, but not least at all, to Kate who makes me sound more clear and concise than I really am and who gave me a juicy plot element for the sequel. I couldn't have done it without these women.

Now, for notes on the story.

As you might have noticed, not all was resolved at the end of _Dark Heart Silhouette_. When I had the idea for this story in late 2009, I knew it was big - too big to be written in the time allotted for the **dracobigbang **at LiveJournal (about 6 months). Thus, when plotting out how the story was to go, I kept in mind that I needed to plan for two stories instead of one. Consider _Dark Heart Silhouette_ part one of a two-part book. There was always a sequel planned.

At present (November 2010), I'm in the process of plotting out the sequel, _Silhouette Serenade_. I've got some scenes written, but I don't expect to have it finished until sometime in 2011, and I never start posting something until it's completed. I'd _love_ to hear thoughts on what you expect to see, or what you'd like to see in the sequel, and what you thought about _Dark Heart Silhouette_ overall.

If you've made it this far into my notes - THANK YOU! I hope to see y'all soon at _Silhouette Serenade_!


End file.
